truth or dare
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: They aren't friends, but they aren't enemies. What they have is an unidentifiable in-between. It's a little funny how a game can begin to change things. — Gale/Katniss; AU
1. the game

a/n; This has been staring at me on my computer for a long time, and then it was negated by everything I had to do in life, and now it's back! So. Yay writing. I've missed this place. Sometimes I unintentionally fall of the face of the earth and float in space for a while, and that's my problem. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

I'm still going to work on Sweet Heart (and something will come out of me eventually), but this just happened to be a side project that became a tad gigantic, and a build up of unfinished things are detrimental to my motivation. Since this is just nearly completed, I'll be posting chapters up frequently. Happy reading.

**truth or dare:** one - the game

* * *

Town kids have always been the more annoying of the two demographics of District Twelve. Not that Gale doesn't have any bias against them already (getting into meaningless fights over wealth and pride and everything that could ever spark a conflict between them never left him with a good impression to begin with). But, that notwithstanding, the lot of them always came off having too much time on their hands. That extra time usually led to stupid, meaningless extracurricular activities.

Gale takes note of a few whispers one day, during a boring lecture in the school classroom. It starts with a group of boys gaggling towards the back of the room, their voices soft enough to slide under the teacher's notice at the front. Gale sneaks a look behind him, watching one boy gesture to another, while the other one wads up a single piece of paper. He chucks it at a girl nearly half the room away from him. It miraculously hits her in the middle of her golden head. She squeaks so loud, every one turns to look at her. The boys in the back stifle their laughter behind closed fists.

"Melanie!"

The girl squeaks again, a flush rising with vigorous abandon across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and before she can get out a single word, she resembles a ripe, summer strawberry.

"I'm s-sorry, Mrs. Schultz. I didn't mean – "

"A disruption of class means five minutes off your lunch break."

"But I – "

"No excuses, Melanie."

Mrs. Schultz falls back into her long-winded tale of the history of coal mining, coal manufacturing, coal-related everything, while Melanie slumps, crosses her arms, and looks close to tears. Gale assumes she hears the boys' laughter, because she turns to look back at them, glaring when they begin to laugh harder.

Gale's not sure what he finds more amusing – the fact that Melanie is so utterly embarrassed about being called out in class (there always seems to be more shame in being called out than being upset over the lost chunk of time for eating) or that the boys find so much humor in throwing a balled up piece of paper at a girl. They've probably never kissed one.

When the time comes for lunch, Gale takes his time leaving the classroom. Melanie shrinks further into her plastic chair, avoiding eye contact with everyone except the group of tormenting boys, her stare following them past her and out the door.

Gale stops by her desk as he walks down the aisle, squatting down to pick up the pencil carelessly shoved by her elbow during her moment of flustered astonishment.

"You dropped this," he says to her, and she jumps, turning to face him. Her freckles pop against the immediate blush that rises on her cheeks.

"O-oh, Gale. Thank you." She reaches out with her fingers, taking the proffered item. Gale smiles, conscious to make it crooked and sure. He notices her swallow.

"Anytime, Melanie."

He turns to go, and he hears her sigh behind him. He grins to himself. He's just started coming into his own with the girls around the district, and while he's always had an interest in the female population, he's only begun to clumsily grasp the handhold for his reputation. Curious and emboldened, he decides to swivel back around.

"Listen," he starts. "About those other guys…"

"Oh." She shakes her head, embarrassment already rushing up her neck and into her face, again, for the third time. "They were just playing a game they made up."

Gale takes a step closer. "A game?"

"They call it Truth or Dare," she says, the distaste curling her lips into a sneer. She crosses her arms in defiance, but Gale doesn't have to ask her to explain. "They make a group to play it. Then the person who starts asks someone if they want to answer a truth or do a dare. Whoever doesn't go through with it loses." She wrinkles her nose at her explanation. "It doesn't matter how the person answers the truth or how they do the dare. It's stupid."

Gale thinks about it. The idea was a definite evolved step up from seeing how far they could spit wads of paper from their mouths or putting glue on the chairs before class started. It's still immature and foolhardy, but he'd be disappointed in the town kids if it wasn't.

"Yeah…" he answers. "It is stupid."

He's then shuttled out of the classroom by the teacher, lips pursed like she'd been sucking on a lemon all day. He catches a smile from Melanie before he gets through the door, and he decides she's pretty when she isn't so flustered. He'll have to keep that in mind.

First, however, he's going to find Katniss.

* * *

Katniss Everdeen isn't a fun person. She's withdrawn, austere, and her skin would give him all kinds of cuts if he handled her wrong. Not that Gale can talk much – he's far from unicorns and rainbows, himself. But she is a fearsome, vicious thing, and her braids don't soften any of those sharp corners. He's bumped into them a few (several) times, and she hasn't gotten less rigid over the past two years.

So, he figures, why not?

"Have you heard about that new game at school?" he asks her on their next hunting day.

"Truth or dare? Yeah," she says. "It seems pointless."

"Pointless?"

"A lot of guys in my class have hurt themselves doing stupid things."

Gale laughs at that. "I didn't expect any less from them."

She looks over to him. "Why are you asking?"

"Curious," he says, by way of answer. "Have you not tried it?"

Her look becomes annoyed and disbelieving. She scoffs out her reply, tone on the precipice of exhausted and irritated.

"No."

"Want to?"

"Are you kidding?"

He shrugs. "When do I ever kid with you? So, truth or dare?"

"This is stupid," she persists.

Two can be persistent. He's too amused at her easy aggravation. "Truth or dare?"

It takes a minute before her annoyance ebbs away, the quick fire of her temper to come around and settle back. She's not unpredictable, but when the shield of irritation falls, Katniss nearly smiles. Her lips don't twitch, but her eyes gain a clear glint. It's about as equivalent to a smile that he gets. She's never been one to back down from a challenge, and he takes pride in the fact that he guessed correctly.

"Okay. Fine." She regards him. "Dare."

_Dare._ It almost sounds like a victory. He glances around at the stems of the trees, then to the drop-off in front of them and the enticing valleys in the distance. There's nothing immediate that comes to mind – from what he's seen from her, she's decent at all the things they do. It's been nearly two years since he's begun to hunt with her, but all he knows of her is her skill at killing things and climbing up trees to...kill more things.

Their progression with one another is a slow kind of freight train. Ever since he caught her that day with his snares, they've been going through the motions, growing accustomed to each other because – just because.

Growing _accustomed_. He holds back a laugh. It's closer to forced toleration. He's not even sure why they still hang around with one another, hunting together when they can do it perfectly by themselves. He's pinned it down to both of them exploiting their talents more than any other convenience they've found. It's easier living when there are four hands and eyes and legs than only two, and he's fully in favor of it.

And she's so _uptight_, he thinks. He wouldn't call the time they spend together calming, or great, or nice. Often times, it's like he's all by himself in the forest, tracking and killing. They handle themselves with care, the silence between them a threaded and adopted cushion.

He's just a little used to her, now. If, for some reason, they decided to call it quits and never hunt together again, he wouldn't care less.

"I dare you to…" he struggles for a moment. "Smile."

"Smile?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "You're what, fourteen? What fourteen year olds never smile?"

She leans back, the motion so slight in how she shifts. He sees her defenses rise up against him.

"Who cares? You never smiled."

"Sure I did," he answers, not quite sure if it's truthful. It was a hard time two years ago, and there's nothing nice to dwell on. "You never saw them because you weren't looking for them."

She opens her mouth, but she hesitates. He's suddenly very curious in what she has to say; her face is fully guarded in the moment she stops herself.

"I might not have been looking for them, but I would have seen them."

She's got a lot of conviction in her voice, and he can't tell if it's because she's defensive, or if she's being honest. She_ does_ tend to get mad all the time, yet she claims that girls are dramatic, picky, and unnecessary with what they need. It doesn't matter what she claims – she's as much a girl as every other one of them. She's already as prickly as they come. He shudders to think what she'll be like once she gets all hormonal.

"Whatever you say," he says, letting her off. "So, smile."

"No."

"You'll risk losing on the first try?"

"Lose?" she splutters. "You can_ lose_ in this game?"

"C'mon, Katniss, it wouldn't be a game if no one lost."

"This is so dumb," she mutters under her breath, the shadows the sun cast on her skin like darkening clouds.

Then, miraculously, she straightens, pushing back her shoulders all prim and proper, like some kind of regal queen, and she quirks her lips up in the most unspectacular show of happiness Gale has ever seen.

He scoffs loudly. "You call that a smile?"

Her whole face twists into an angry frown. "It's a smile and you know it."

"Maybe I should have specified that you have to actually show your teeth."

"But you didn't," she says, flicking her words at him. "Not my fault you weren't thinking ahead."

"Okay, miss priss, you don't have to get mad about smiling, of all things."

She grimaces at him. "I'm not mad. I'm not prissy, either."

He raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm only being honest."

"How do you get prissy from me just not liking to smile? You don't smile!"

He stares at her as she crosses her arms, huffing. It's so entertaining, watching her lightly sulk, eyes throwing daggers into the ground in front of her.

He sighs after a minute or two, realizing she won't talk if he doesn't. "Alright, let's drop it. It's your turn."

"I hate this game. Why are we playing it?"

"Catnip, we haven't gotten through one round, yet."

She reigns in another thing she was about to say. She's complained about the nickname at a constant rate over their time together, with no precursor of stopping. He loves riling her up with it. She glares. "Truth or dare," she demands without inflection.

He fears what she'll tell him to do if he picks dare. "Truth."

She frowns one more time at the answer. Even her face is prickly as she stares in front of her, as if looking for the question to appear in the trees. Then she turns her eyes to him, glancing at his hands before glancing at his face, then his boots.

"Why are we doing this?"

He quirks his face at her. Was she serious? No, he takes that back. She's always serious.

"Okay, we don't have to play this game if you really hate it so much – "

"No," she says, cutting off his sarcasm. "I mean, this," she says, and gestures between them. "Hunting. Meeting up and doing this together."

Her thought process is so similar to his that it startles him. He straightens a little in his seat.

"You mean, you don't enjoy my company?"

She stares at him, unaffected by his dry humor. "Give me one good reason."

"It's obvious," he says, answering her like he's answered himself. "Protecting our families. The food both of us bring in is more than we could ever do by ourselves."

"I don't need you. I could feed Prim and my mom fine, by myself."

He pauses. "I'm sure you could."

"But you need me, don't you? How could your family survive without my help?"

A sudden burst of anger balls up inside his throat. She couldn't be more wrong. He doesn't _need_ her. He'd be fine without her extra hands, without her shadow always a few steps behind his own. She's a menace more than anything, her mood always sour, infecting him with her robotic words and stiff arrows like a nasty disease.

"We were fine before you came into this forest. You're the one who followed me around like some lost dog."

She physically bristles. "I'd never seen a snare before."

"That's why you followed? Because of a snare?" He barks a laugh.

"You never told me to leave."

He cuts off his laugh, and he looks at her. A wave of compulsion takes over him, and he wants to be as careless with her as he can. Being a girl stopped him from doing it before, but gender hardly matters, especially with a girl like _her._

"You don't think I tried to get you to leave? You were like some annoying bug, always buzzing around me. You were so loud. You scared away all the game for _weeks._ The times we went to the Hob, I purposely gave you bad tips because I wanted you to give up on what you were doing. I let you trade for ridiculous things, and I didn't correct you. I made sure the bad customers treated you like shit and the good ones treated you like shit. That's how much I wanted you to quit."

She blinks at him, looking neither hurt nor surprised. She doesn't care. But why would she?

"I caught onto that later," she answers. "I didn't like you then. I still don't like you."

That makes him angrier. "I've never liked you, either."

Toleration. Yeah, that's it. It's never been harder to look at her, but she continues to look at him, and his pride keeps him from breaking the stare.

"So, what's your real answer?" she asks.

"What I said was my real answer," he growls back. "You're good with a bow. That's all that matters. If you get Reaped, it won't be any kind of loss. I'll be here, taking care of my family." He stops, thinking back to something. "I never told you to stay with me. You know, I never told you to do anything. So I guess you should be asking yourself instead of me."

There's a long silence, but it's nothing like the cushion they've slowly crafted between them. It's rough, hard, and grating.

"You're good with snares," she says, finally. "That's all that matters."

He almost thinks she's joking with how she mimics his answer, but her voice is flat and her face is devoid of anything conspicuous.

"You don't have to show up, tomorrow."

"_You_ don't have to show up, tomorrow."

It's all true, he thinks, once they go their separate ways at the day's end. He's good with snares. She's good at the bow – and climbing trees. A handful of useful things. He never told her to leave, and she never asked if she could stay.

And neither of them has to show up at the same spot at the same time. They don't have to exist to each other. All it'll take is some ignoring, some avoiding, and some apathy. That's easy.

But Gale arrives at the same time, at the same spot, and Katniss does, too. Neither speaks a word.

Their mid-day break arrives, eventually, like it does every day. Everything's been the same, flawless and emotionless like it had been before their quasi-argument.

"Truth or dare?" he begins, disregarding her obvious, _don't talk to me_ look of disdain.

She kicks at a rock, and it surprises him when she doesn't huff or sigh or verbalize her displeasure at the question. He can see it plainly on her face, and that's better than nothing. If she didn't seem slightly sour, he'd feel compelled to ask her what was wrong.

"Truth."

"Why'd you show up?"

She crosses her arms tighter around chest. "Why'd _you _show up?"

Two years. He sighs tiredly. They're not ever going to get any further than where they've gotten if she crosses her arms and sneers and never answers any of the questions he asks. She can't even play the game right. But that's fine. He doesn't care. She can be grotesquely un-fun and terrible at rules all she wants.

"I don't know."

She glances at him, and she might be gauging his sincerity. She might not. She might be thinking of his head popping off or his heart stopping. He's given up on trying to discern what kinds of things dart through a mind like hers.

"I came because you're good with snares," she says. "You're not nice. We aren't friends. But…we have families."

Then she shocks him all over again by smiling some pitiful, skeleton smile. It's a lot better than the day before, and it actually holds a handful of emotion in it. Granted, it's still unimpressive, and the state it's in needs some serious renovation work. But Gale feels it like a punch in his jaw.

It's_ pretty._

The thought sprints through his mind without his permission. It's true, sort of. It's only a novelty because he's never seen it in the light of day.

"Then let's go take care of our families," he says, forgoing to smile back. She immediately reverts to her soul-sucking self, face sterilized of emotion as if it was a simple switch. She doesn't seem to be bothered by his lack of companionship, and he has to hold back the riptide of indignation that washes through him.

It isn't his fault she acts like a fucking machine all the time.

* * *

After that, truth or dare becomes a natural occurrence between them.

"Dare."

Nine times out of ten, she chooses dare. His creativity started lacking after the sixth or seventh dare - mostly because there wasn't much for him to get her to do. And if there was something he decided, and she didn't like it, he'd say it wouldn't be fun _if_ she liked it, and then it'd devolve into a weird stalemate where they wouldn't talk to each other. Or, more accurately, where _she_ wouldn't talk to _him._ Katniss gets dramatic, and it's different because it isn't an angry dramatic, like he'd expected it to be. It's more of a sulky dramatic, and he's not sure if she does it on purpose. A lot of the things she does come off brazenly nonchalant or hilariously oblivious.

"Climb to that branch," he says, pointing to a precariously thin branch stretching high into the air.

She follows his finger, glancing at it with a bored expression.

"Another tree branch?" she says.

"After you shot those three deer in a week, I figured I'd give you a break."

Watching her go through with that dare (which was half to make her fail and half to see if she'd take the challenge seriously), he decided she meant business when she deemed his dares worthy. It also wasn't a good idea to scare the deer population so much, so he kept the hunting challenges back for a while.

"Fine," she sighs, already beginning to climb the tree. She pulls herself up with fluid motions, bending and twisting her way from level to level. Her clothes snag against the bark on occasion, but those are her only missteps. She could pass as a forest creature if she wanted to, living among the leaves like a flightless bird. Then all at once, she's ten, fifteen, twenty feet above him, if not higher, and she straddles the branch that he indicated. It bends significantly under her weight.

"Done," she says, breath coming out of her easy. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

He leans against the boulder behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. He likes to pick truths more than dares, because she's not nearly as good choosing questions to ask him as she is at thinking of things he isn't nearly as confident in doing. (He's not as good with the bow, as she loves to shove in his face all the time by daring him to do things she knows he can't, and he isn't as great a climber as she is). He also isn't a diva about backing down like she can be (he once dared her to be nice to him for a day, and she boggled that one so terribly she spent the day complaining about it, instead). He didn't even give her that hard a time about it, since she made it so easy for him to make fun of her.

He contemplates for a moment, then figures, what could she possibly make him do that she hasn't done already? "Dare."

There's a sheen that envelopes her eyes whenever he answers that way. He calls it her eye smile - otherwise known as the only smile she makes in public. Besides the skeleton smile she graced him with a couple weeks ago, this is the only other smile she gives up more than once.

She's quiet for a few seconds. "Come up here with me."

He gives an automatic scoff. "Are you kidding? If I touch that branch, it'll snap."

"No, it won't," she disagrees, running a fingertip along the wood. "You won't be able to make it half-way up the tree, anyway."

There it is - the edge of challenge and the hint of mockery. Gale grimaces as he pushes off the boulder, making his way toward the tree.

"Fine," he says, wrapping his arms around the lowest branch and heaving himself up on it. "When the branch breaks and you end up breaking a leg, it'll be your fault."

"It won't be my fault because you won't make it."

He can't help but think she might be right. He watched her make her crazy maneuvers to get up the tree - but he won't tell her that.

"Oh, I'll make it," he says, inching his way further along. "You're gonna eat your words, Catnip."

"Save it for when you don't fall."

He peers up at her through the leaves, and her stare is from such a height that it gives off a hefty amount of condescension from the angle. He huffs, grabbing onto the next branch. This never got as easy as she made it look.

He almost slips all of four times on skinny, sturdy branches, and it takes him a lot longer than it took her, but when he finally makes it to the last branch beside her feet, he grins triumphantly, and he tries to hide all his heavy breathing.

"Ruined your hopes, didn't I?" he says brightly.

"You haven't made it all the way, yet."

He gives her a look. "Oh, come on. This proves I could get on your branch if I wanted to. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

As serious as ever. He rubs at his forehead in frustration.

"It's gonna break."

"Is this your way of forfeiting?" she asks, voice edging toward victorious.

He grits his teeth at her tone. He knew the dare was a bad idea. But...

He glances down, the ground a smaller square in his view. He can't tell how high they are - twenty feet? Twenty-five, thirty? He's never been a fan of heights, but the sight of it spikes a sudden adrenaline through him. He brings his head up and catches Katniss' eye. As crazy as it is, he enjoys this. He _really_ enjoys this.

"I don't forfeit," Gale says, the conviction high in his words. "Move."

She complies reluctantly, giving him just enough room to swing himself onto the branch. The branch bounces, then bows in a dangerous arc when he settles, straddling it like she does and facing her. Their eye level is off as her body bobs with the tree, and she's two heads shorter than him on the decline.

Her glare is a flatline. He tries to cherish it while combating the need to get the hell off the branch.

"Satisfied?" he asks.

She scoffs by way of answer, and he hears the vital sounds of snapping. She doesn't seem worried about it; in fact, she seems more irritated with him than concerned about their situation.

He glances down at the forest floor. "Maybe we should get off."

Her lips purse. "Whoever gets off first loses."

He can hardly believe her. "It's a game, Katniss. We could both get seriously injured."

The branch moans a little longer, and both their bodies sink further. "If you're so worried, get off."

"I'll get off when you get off."

"I'm not getting off."

"Look, we can both get off together. It'll be a tie."

She seems affronted. "I don't want a tie."

They lose another centimeter. Gale starts to panic.

"Okay, fine. I dare you to get off the branch."

"You didn't ask me first."

His fingers tighten around the rough edges of bark. "Shit, Katniss. Truth or dare?"

"Hm," she says. "Truth."

He can feel his blood pressure rising. He hisses, "You are the stupidest - " _crack_ "- most reckless girl - " _snap_ "- hell, you're worse than the town kids - "

Then, of course, the branch breaks completely.

All his words disappear as he falls forward, catching Katniss' brief look of surprise as she slips back. This is all her fault. Bull-headed, stubborn, reckless, stupid, uncaring, dramatic, robotic, and every other negative descriptive word he can imagine.

She's right in front of him as they fall, and he reaches out. He clumsily grips her forearm, and he attempts to yank her around. They move around awkwardly, him doing his best to spin around in front of her before they hit the ground.

It's the fastest and longest moment of his life. He lands flat on his back, his lungs collapsing for a handful of precious seconds. Katniss' weight is not helping matters. She thankfully gets off before he spends too much time struggling to breathe.

"Damn it," he wheezes, his lungs clumsily handling the air he manages to suck in. His eyes swirl with the vision of green leaves and brown branches like spiderwebs and gauzy strings.

Katniss' shadow appears above him. "Are you okay?"

The difficulty breathing stops him from snapping something snarky at her. "Fine."

He's lucky he didn't land on any stray rocks. He feels around him sightlessly and feels only grass, dirt, and stray twigs. He manages to push himself up, leaning heavily on his right palm, and he coughs the air back into him.

"You didn't have to do that," Katniss says, peering down at him.

Gale glances up to where they had fallen from. The branch is still dangling by a slight piece of fibrous wood, like a loose thread on a shirt. He's probably going to have a bruise spanning the entirety of his back. It's going to be a bitch walking around.

"Maybe not," he says. "But I'm a gentleman."

She doesn't seem amused by his answer, though there is a triumphant glow to her.

"I guess that means I win," she says smugly.

He looks up to her. "What?"

"You hit the ground first," she gestures. "That means I win."

What was he expecting? Gratitude? His face quirks, her reaction and his lingering pain mixing into an outburst of laughter. Once he starts, he can't stop. He just laughs and laughs, and at her increasingly bemused face, he laughs some more.

"What is so funny?" she asks.

He pushes himself up, using leverage from his knees. "That," he says, in between chuckles. "Is that last time I help you."

"Help me?" she says indignantly. "I would've landed the same way with or without you. You're the one who hurt yourself by trying to be heroic."

Definitely an impulsive judgment on his part, and a bad one at that. "Yeah," he mutters. "You're right. You win, fair and square, Catnip. I lose. Game over." He begins to walk around, his body protesting the action.

Katniss blinks at him. "You're going to lose, just like that?"

He glances over to her, surprised at her surprise. "I touched the ground first. Rules are rules." Not like he's going to win against her, _ever_, with her level of crazy being so high.

"Oh," she says quietly. "Well, we can keep playing. We could play in...rounds, until someone wins or loses. I win this round, but we can keep going until someone wins two out of three."

He stops walking around. Was she trying to be _nice?_

Looking over at her, he can't care to hide his suspicion. Something was up. Or he was looking too far into it. Knowing her, she just wanted to keep besting him and rub it in his face every chance she could get.

"No," he says. "We don't need to. We'll start up a new one, anyway. You win today," he says, then he grins. "But I'll win tomorrow."

At this, the eye smile comes back. She flicks her braid over her shoulder.

"I don't think so," she says haughtily. "I'll beat you like I did today."

He ardently wishes he could bring her smug countenance down a notch or two. She is begging to get her ass kicked, and Gale thinks he can if he stops being so soft with his dares.

She'll see.

"Whatever, _Catnip_," he says, adding a derisive punch to his words. "I've been going easy on you."

"Easy on me?" she glares. "I have a hard time believing you."

"Believe what you want."

Her eyes follow him. "You can't scare me, you know."

"I'm not trying to. I'm being honest."

They don't fall into much conversation for the rest of their time in the forest, but he feels like he's being dissected with her silver eyes, glinting like scalpels. He makes sure to smirk at her to keep her unsettled.


	2. barrier

**two** - barrier

* * *

The first time Katniss loses is when he dares her to make a snare and catch something with it. He watches her tie it, already knowing it's a failure by her design, knots decorating the string in strange places. It seems that no matter how many times she watched him from before, she didn't learn much from the observations.

He doesn't hold back his laughter at her attempt, and he's only egged on when he sees the embarrassment she tries desperately to hide. It isn't a blush, exactly, but it is far from any of the smug confidence he's so used to seeing.

"That's not going to catch anything."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he says, making a show of examining her contraption. "That's…not a snare."

She ignores him, but has nothing to rebuke him with when the snare is still empty at the end of the day.

"I guess you lose."

She cuts her eyes at him. "Only once. Compared to your, what, five losses?"

Gale smirks. "The queen of dares is no longer undefeated."

"Shut up, Gale."

Her abashment is enough to last him a year. His smirk evolves into a grin.

"Stop smiling," she complains.

"No."

She huffs, and after that, she suddenly gets a lot better at snares. She even asks him to teach her, and he raises his eyebrows at her.

"You know, after this I'm never daring you to make a snare again."

She shrugs in response. "At least I'll become better at snare making than you."

"Right," he says sarcastically. He then deliberately shows her how to make his weaker snares instead of his good ones.

Their endeavors in truth or dare soon make their way into the Hob. Gale can't remember how it starts, how one of them dipped their feet and said, "I dare you to get ten pieces for this turkey," or "I dare you to sell this to Mr. Galley for a jar of grain."

It was the obvious next step for the game's direction to take, and as the weeks passed, all the dares got bolder and bolder.

"I dare you to sell this squirrel for a cake."

"I dare you to be nice to Madge when we get to her house."

"I dare you to make Greasy Sae sell you her wild pig for these containers of yeast."

"I dare you…"

"I dare you…"

They easily slip into forgoing asking for a truth or a dare in preference for demanding dares from one other. It's fun seeing who will be successful at what crazy attempts they would give to one another. Katniss surprisingly gets the Mellark boy to sell her a small cake for a less than palatable squirrel, even though Gale knew the squirrel wasn't what Mellark cared for, upon leaving the first time. Gale's stashed this information away for future use.

Gale_ is_ nice to Madge. Mostly. He smiles and does all the necessary things that District Twelve society deems nice, like saying thanks and goodbye. Katniss is reluctant in her judgment, but ultimately says it counts. It's quite the shocker. Gale figured Katniss would say he didn't do enough, but this just proves that she's getting better at being less dramatic when playing the game.

Most things they do are pointless, still, but Gale can't deny how entertaining it is. Katniss, though she hides it well, seems to enjoy it. She never speaks against it, but when Gale starts a dare, she always readily takes the challenge.

Their dares still have no consequence when they fail; the only immediate sting Gale feels is at the walls of his pride – but even that seems to be lessening.

The seriousness that always pervaded their trades and haggling has noticeably decreased. The urgency to obtain all the items they need remains, but the burden is lighter, and it disperses quickly when Gale has his bouts of worrying.

Katniss' personality never strays. Sometimes, he likes to think she's looser on a certain day, less coiled up within herself, or more carefree on another. If she is, it doesn't last long. He can catch glimpses of her face puckered caustically to suddenly becoming unguarded and serene. She doesn't smile in these moments, and she doesn't look happy, but she's closer to happiness than the lesser emotions of angry, irritated, or sad.

He's not sure why he's beginning to take so much time out of what they spend together to regard her changes – hell, he's probably making most of them up. But it's kind of like a game in itself. What face is Katniss holding up today? Raging? Terrifying? Like she's on her period?

She's skinny as a stick, too skinny for him to believe she's matured physically, but that's a messy business to get into. He's learned the hard way with other girls he's dabbled with, and he's hoped, even, that when the time comes, she doesn't get any worse than she already is. Some girls become monsters. If Katniss becomes any more monstrous than she is now, something grisly will happen to him.

They finish up at the Hob, successfully today, with a jar of grain and a tube of oil, savings jangling in their pockets, and Gale feels that extra hop in his step. He blames his sudden boldness on it as they pass by the bakery entrance, the enticing scents bombarding the space of the lane.

"You're fifteen now, right?" he asks, slowing his steps to a stop. She stops too, looking at him.

"Yes," she says. "Why?"

He shrugs with a forced nonchalance. "You know why that bakery kid always lets you take something for our shittiest items?"

"Because I'm persuasive."

Gale can't help it. Her tone is so confidently dosed with conviction and surety that it pulls the loud laughter out of him like a punch pulls out breath.

Her face morphs into a very disgruntled frown.

"_What_? Is that supposed to be funny?"

She goes so far as to punch him in the arm. _Punch him_. He's so shocked by it that the laughter turns strangled. His eyes bug out as he stares at her in disbelief. She's never voluntarily made physical contact with him. The only other time was when they fell out of that tree, but that…doesn't really count.

"Did you just hit me?" he splutters.

She crosses her arms under her flat chest. "You were laughing," she says, as if it's completely warranted.

"I just can't believe…" he begins. Then he shakes his head, forgoing to mention what a huge leap of progress bodily contact is for her, in case, by stating the obvious (which, of this caliber, probably entirely eludes her) will make the eye smiles and potential future punching opportunities disappear. He's all about using her for amusement and poking fun, but he's not about to go edging toward the arena of Katniss' self-consciousness – not that she has any qualms with what people think, act like, or talk about in reference to her – but it would be inconvenient if she started to care.

"I'm laughing," he decides to say. "Because Mellark has been infatuated with you the first day you walked into his bakery."

Her reaction – again – is one for the books. Her face unfurls like a blanket, from creased and crinkled to ironed-straight and white. It might be an epiphany or simple horrification. He's never witnessed fear in any capacity around her, nor mortification, but with how she's been letting so many emotions slip these past weeks, he wouldn't be surprised if she lets slip another thing he's never seen in her before.

She shuffles on her feet, glancing away from him to the bakery not ten feet away.

"No," she whispers, just under her breath, and Gale has a mind to think it's like she's talking to herself. He has to strain his ears to make out what she says. "It was before then."

He blinks, thinking he misheard.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says, too quickly.

"No, you said something about "before then". What does that mean?"

"I didn't mean anything, it was nothing."

Her defenses rise, her shields are up. She reverts back into herself, the curve of a scowl beginning to form. He really should stop needling, but…

"I dare you to tell me what you meant."

Her scowl deepens. "I said I didn't mean anything."

"You're gonna let me win today? Really, Katniss?"

She hesitates, conflicted for a mere moment, then blurts, "He gave me bread, once, a long time ago. I was starving. It was raining. The bread was burnt and disgusting, but it was the only thing I'd eaten in days. Okay? That's it."

She turns forward and continues to walk, setting a brisk pace. He processes the information, jogging to catch up with her. It makes sense. Mellark's little glances and smiles whenever Katniss walks into his store always stifle the loving smells of bread and sweet cakes. Gale gags whenever he sees the painfully indiscreet looks of teenage puppy admiration. Katniss' impervious attitude (and what Gale believed to be some malfunction in her that repelled the _tender loving care_ emotions) makes their visits bearable and entertaining.

Seeing her react to it, however, in her casually antagonistic way… Well, this is new territory.

"Was that before we met?"

She doesn't answer immediately. "I don't know. Around the same time, I guess."

This Mellark kid has also been around years longer than Gale had thought. It's strange.

"Oh," he says. "So…what? He's been giving you free leftovers all this time?"

"No, he hasn't," she says, shaking her head. She seems already exhausted of the topic, but then she's never been one for attention. "It's not worth talking about."

He inwardly groans, but he keeps from pushing too much. There aren't many topics that she sees fit to broach on any given day. It's nearly a miracle he's gotten so much out of her.

"Okay."

They walk in silence to the Seam, and they part ways at their designated intersection. They never say goodbye to each other, and in a rapid second Gale wants to say that he'll see her tomorrow. He glances at the braid softly swishing against her back like a pendulum, and he quells the thought as quickly as it comes.

* * *

Gale underestimates her newfound punching abilities.

It seems once she broke the mold, she can't stop. And let's face it – Gale does (mostly says) things Katniss disagrees with, or gets annoyed with, and she isn't afraid to show it. And they_ hurt_. Gale's sure he's going to have perpetual bruises near his shoulder (since she likes to always hit him in the same spot. It's strategic on her part, he's deduced). She's brutal, too. After some odd weeks, she begins to raise a single knuckle an inch higher than the rest, more often than not frogging a tender nerve in his triceps. He doesn't let her know about it – that will only egg her on, and he's not sure his right arm can bear a higher level of beating. There is no affection in them. He's taken to adding a few more feet between them when they hunt.

Slowly, their every day routine turns into an every other day routine. Gale's always been tactful with meeting Katniss at their designated times that they set. They're still rigorous in their hunting, but the scheduling has become more lax and less desperate. Gale's an expert in the forest, and Katniss handles herself the same as she always has, with a stoic, unrelenting grace.

It's probably why Gale doesn't think too much about showing up hours late to the forest, one day out of many. It was predestined to happen, with how things were going, and it's only a single day. There's no harm in it.

It's mostly his fault – though not _entirely_ his fault. He's the one to follow through on it, but he was far from the instigator.

_Vanessa_, his mind flits, the euphoric high running rapid in his veins. She'd been throwing bedroom eyes at him all week, and while he couldn't decide if her face was pretty or boring, she had a magnetizing pull of allure to her. It might have been her subtle flirtations that snagged him, or her accidental bumps into him and her quiet breathy apologies she didn't mean. But really? Gale pins it down on the fact that she's a girl, and he's been insatiably horny for what feels like _months._

He can't stay celibate, whatever he does. There just always seems as if another girl appears that he hasn't noticed, and they actively grab his attention, as interested in what he can give them and what he can receive in turn. Then a few smiles later, and he's got them underneath him, keeling into him with their legs around his hips like a belt. Some are new and some are experienced, but he doesn't care enough to keep up with any of that. They're too willing, and he's too ready.

He's been good at planning these things – making sure they don't interfere with hunting for the Hob. Today is the one exception.

He runs his fingers through his tangled hair, brushes at his shirt in vain, failing to get rid of the wrinkled indentions of Vanessa's fingernails. He can't rub away the incriminating bruises forming on his neck, either, but he smiles. That girl is a firecracker. He enjoys it when they surprise him.

He arrives to the forest, and he finds Katniss eventually, hidden and crouched behind a shrub, eyes leveled on a raccoon in the distance. Their meat doesn't sell for much, but their distinct fur pattern transforms into a nice pelt. He stands silent behind her, observing her as she reaches for an arrow on her back, strings it, aims, then lets it fly like a missile. He sees the arrow hit the mark before he hears the wet slap of it penetrate the eye. There's something phallic about it.

"Good shot," he says, getting that jolt of elation when she jumps. He's learned that she becomes hyperaware and incredibly skittish when she concentrates hard on a kill. When he figured that out, he began going out of his way to scare her. Then, fast forward some months, and cue the never-ending punches for the later times he did it.

"Oh," she breathes, glancing at him behind her before standing. "I wasn't expecting you."

He pushes against the closest tree trunk.

"You weren't? I'm only an hour late."

She half-shrugs, turning and walking through the brush to collect her raccoon.

"You're never late. I figured you were sick or didn't want to come."

He _came_, alright, but Vanessa obviously didn't help, considering he can see sex everywhere. Still. Again. In everything. He glances to the raccoon she's holding, watching as she pulls her arrow out of the eye.

He pauses in his thinking, suddenly distracted by her tone. She is unsurprisingly neutral. He's right. He hadn't been expecting her to question him about his absence, but now he wishes she would. He's really beginning to regret his premature departure from Vanessa. There's still plenty of time for him to collect some animals, and he could've ignored his and Katniss' meet up altogether.

"I'm always going to hunt," he says to her back.

"If you say so," she answers. "You'll want to check your snares, then. They're full."

She turns toward him, bagging the dead animal and walking in his direction. She gives him a wide berth when she walks past, bypassing her chance to add more pain in his arm, and she doesn't even spare him a glance. He tries not to feel insulted.

All these years, he's never been late. When he finally is, she's not the slightest bit curious. If he was in her position –

Well, if he was in her position, a lot of things would be different. The bruises on his arm are beginning to seem like a waste of time.


	3. vulnerability

**three** - vulnerability

* * *

There are days when they find themselves rounding their way to the pond. The times multiply in the summer, and as the days grow into its blanket of heat, Gale fully welcomes the respite. District Twelve can get bitterly cold in the winter, but the summer is hot as hell, lingering for months on end. Gale's always been warmer blooded – and most of the time, he'll prefer a blizzard over a heat wave any day of the week.

The pond is a little one, not ten feet in diameter, but it fits perfectly in the palm of the forest. Gale can touch his toes on the bottom of two-thirds of it, with the rest of the available areas flowing above his head. It's soothing and lovely, the greenery surrounding them lush and decadent. It invokes a feeling of somewhere else – a different forest and a different place. Gale can look around and see nothing but paradise if he wants to, though he's always been too firmly rooted in the present. The creeping of reality lingers on his neck, itching and scratching like a rash, and he can't get away for too long. Pollen swirls around like fairy dust, and it's as good as it's going to be. He closes his eyes, sighing, and starts floating lazily on his back against the surface of the water.

He's here without Katniss, today. It happened by chance – he's made himself stop being aware of where she is or might be at all times of the day. It was a bad habit he'd gained over the…what is it now, three years?...he's known her. It was unconsciously done. Their routines never strayed very far, and he'd connect where he was with where she probably was when they weren't hunting together.

He stopped it quickly after that mishap with Vanessa – not that it was a mishap (she's been coming to him for a regular comfort now, and he's_ completely_ okay with that). But afterward, he vowed he'd stop trying to make her grow out of her mechanical personality. You can't fix what was never broken. It only took him thirty-six months to realize.

It's a shame. Her eye smiles are fine. She still shows those through their dares. But compared to the original, the abridged versions are only disappointments. If he searches back in his mind, digs fervently through all the frowns and sad glances, he can just recall what her real smile was like.

He exhales out of his nose, eyes still closed. He concentrates on the miscellaneous noises of the bugs in the trees and the feel of the rare breeze on his skin. It's been a while since he's thought about nothing. No lingering thoughts of bargaining, hunting, his family. This summer is going good. He'd dodged another Reaping last week, even with the three tesserae tickets he had to add over the year, his family has been full for a month, girls are still responding to him, and Rory's only got one ticket in the lottery bowl.

It's been nice.

He feels a cold, wet splash in his face – it's so sudden and unexpected that he sputters and kicks his legs, pushing him down into the murky depths of the water. His feet find the slimy mud on the bottom floor and he breaks through the surface, coughing out the water that ran up his nose.

He finds a highly triumphant Katniss standing by the water's edge, and he realizes he floated toward the bank in the time he'd been lying there. Her arms are crossed, foot freshly wet from kicking the water. She's already wearing her swim attire, which includes (he guesses) the wrap she uses as a bra, the bottoms matching the ratty, rough fabric. He spies a few threads dangling from it, probably worn from several months' use. Possibly years. She hasn't grown much at all – even at sixteen, she looks the same as she did at thirteen. Still skinny, albeit toned from the harsh diet they've maintained. He's seen curves on town girls that are miles better than hers will ever be. He's seen longer legs, shorter legs, longer torsos, prettier faces. He's fucked stunners.

But he's never been one to discriminate the female form. He absorbs her with his eyes for a moment, then he changes his glance to a glare, hands finding the grass and soggy mud of the bank.

"Alright," he says. "You asked for it."

"I didn't say anything."

"Don't be a smartass, Katniss."

She backs away from him quickly. When he finds his footing, he advances on her. She flits backward.

"What are you going to do?"

He grins at the look on her face. She's trying to hold herself bravely, but he knows better. She's getting that flustered look, the _I'm-going-to-run-as-fast-as-I-can_, look.

"Get revenge."

"You can't catch me."

"You're not getting far without shoes."

She flounders for a second. "I can…climb a tree."

He lunges at her, and she hops out of reach. He almost laughs at the thought.

"You're not climbing a tree like that."

"You don't know what I can do!"

He starts running at her, and not acting on what she said before, flees from him in the short distance around the pond. He gets close enough to tug at her braid, and it pulls a quiet shriek out of her.

"I dare you to stop chasing me!" she shouts.

"There's no way I'm gonna stop chasing you," he laughs in answer. He catches the hesitation in her footing – as if she was expecting him to let up – but a dare is nothing compared to throwing an unwilling Katniss in the pond.

He's never done it before. He thinks that's why he wants to, so suddenly. He doesn't care much about the water in his face – mostly, he wants to wipe that perpetually superior expression off her face.

He takes advantage of her slowed step, and he wraps his arms around her middle like tight bands. She tries to kick at him, but he hauls her up and away from his legs and other sensitive areas on his body as well as he can. She squirms like a lizard on fire, and he's lucky the pond is so close or he doesn't think he'd be able to handle her.

"Let me go, let me go!" she says, hurried and breathless. She pushes at his arms with her hands, making him tighten his hold.

"I've never heard such a nice demand from you," he says, face taut from smiling. He shuffles, somehow managing to get right at the edge of the bank. Then he swings her into the middle of the pond.

She squeaks right before hitting the water, limbs flailing in all directions. The sight is so funny and uncharacteristically Katniss that Gale doubles over, laughing while Katniss struggles to bring herself upright and above the waterline.

"You should've…I wish you'd seen…" he says between laughs, pointing at her. "Your face – your face was…"

Katniss is quiet for a while, and he thinks she's more than likely glaring at him, because what else would she do in a situation like this? It's not like she –

His laugh dies a short, miserable death. Because – she's not glaring – and she's smiling, but –

She's laughing. She's laughing with her head thrown back, her neck long, the loose strands of her hair in her face. She's laughing.

Gale's not sure he's ever heard it before – no. He knows he's never heard it. He didn't know she was capable of laughing, made from metal and stone and all. Now, here she is, shoulders shaking up and down with the laughter's effort, and he feels the need to write the date down, somewhere.

"You're such a jerk!" she says, splashing water up ineffectually with her palm. "You didn't even take the dare!" Then she laughs some more. Gale almost sits down in a belated state of shock.

"You're laughing," he manages.

They begin to turn into soft chuckles, a smile still curving her mouth. "Yeah, I'm laughing," she says, a quizzical glance bunching her brows. She must see something in his face, because the laughter comes back with more force. "What? You look like you've never seen anybody laugh before."

Was she serious? Did she not know she's never laughed in front of him?

"You don't laugh," he says.

"I do, too, laugh," she answers. "You're acting really strange, Gale."

Stupid question. She's always serious.

"Me?" he says, unable to keep back his incredulousness. "You're the one who's acting strange. All these years, you've hardly cracked a smile, and now you're laughing?" He shakes his head. "Did I miss something? You're made of stone. You're the most robotic, unemotional person I've ever met, and you're laughing?"

The shine in her smile begins to dim. "Robotic?"

Looking back on the moment, he wishes he could change his reaction. "Yes, robotic. Hell, you're the opposite of happy. You're angry, sad, mean, apathetic most times, and now you're just…"

The smile disappears. She pushes back her hair, and it easily sticks to her braid. "Opposite of happy."

He frowns. "You never laugh like that around me."

She stands in the middle of the pond, and she's a very sad sight – it could be a trick of the shadows from the leaves on the trees all around them, but every semblance of light within her face is hidden behind another curtain. A rock sinks into Gale's stomach.

"Sorry," she says, and it's like death. "You should've dared me to laugh. Maybe I would've looked _happy_ for you."

"Katniss – " he starts, not knowing what to say or do. She begins to reach for the bank, pulling herself onto the ground and fetching her discarded clothes. She wipes herself roughly with her shirt.

Gale walks around to her side, uncertain if he's allowed to touch her or talk to her. "Look, I'm sorry I said –"

She recoils from his proximity. "What are you sorry for? I don't care about anything, right?"

He grinds his teeth together. "I didn't mean it like that, okay? I just meant that you never open up to –"

"Oh, you're one to talk," she snaps, pulling on her pants. "We use each other. We admitted it to each other. We're not friends. We're not friends, you know that? You didn't want me around. I didn't want you around. Drop the act, Gale. Throwing me in the pond doesn't make us close. I'm never opening up to you because I don't want to. I don't want to know you anymore than I already do." She shoves her arms through her shirt, and the water stains the creases dark and damp. Her wet braid begins to leave a large branding mark across the back.

Phantom aches start pulsing in his right shoulder, with all the forgotten bruises. He's not sure how to respond.

"It's – it's been years," he says. "You still feel that way?"

"I don't feel anything," she answers, and everything from before is gone. It formed in the glow of paradise, and now that too has faded. The pollen is no longer fairy dust – everything chokes like ash.

If he just hadn't said – if he had only enjoyed what she was offering.

But even if he had just enjoyed it, her laughter would've been like all those other things in her – once seen, it'd never circle back around. Just like a good story, you'll never read it the same way twice. The only difference was he'd never hear it a second time. It's always five hundred steps backward with her, and it's happened so many times. Now he can't help but feel she's done it on purpose all the time they've been with each other.

"You don't fool me, Katniss. I know you're lying," he says.

She throws her pack around her shoulders, and it looks like she's going to leave him. Without thinking, he reaches over and grabs one of her shoulders in his hand. She jerks away, and he holds his hand up.

"Stop it, Gale. I've got to go."

"No, wait. Katniss, listen for a second."

She keeps walking, so he follows her.

"Yeah, it all started like that, I know. We were younger. I hated...everyone. But…it's been years."

"Time doesn't change anything."

"Yes, it does. We've got a good thing going, here, and…"

He's losing her. He hates words.

"It's called _exploiting,_" she snarls at him, never breaking her stride. The debris underfoot is starting to cut his skin. His mind grasps at straws and catches only one.

"I'll tell you a truth. I'll be completely honest with you. Ask me anything."

He snags her with this. Her feet stop with mild reluctance, and she grazes a glance at him.

"Why do you think I'm unhappy?"

If Gale's honest, he was expecting something more veered toward him and humiliation. This question is loaded – it's made her vulnerable, and it's such an unlikely thing for her to allow. He's got to be careful with this one, but he's not sure how to be careful with something truthful. He's just going to make everything worse. Again. On accident.

"I..." he begins, searching for anything in the foliage to spell it out for him. Something truthful, something_ truthful_... "You know I never see you smile. You never do it around me. I've tried to get you to, but you usually punch me, instead."

When she doesn't react with an abrupt, negative outburst, he gains a little confidence. "I shouldn't have said that. I've seen you peaceful, before, and content. It's just... I don't think you're ever happy - really happy." He grimaces. "But who can be happy when you live here? Struggling all the time, the constant worry, making sure your family has the least likely chance to get sick or reaped. I know."

She doesn't turn to him fully, but it's enough for him to see both of her eyes. "Just because I don't smile doesn't mean I'm unhappy."

"Yeah," he says, shrugging. He'd already known that. He's known that for nearly as long as he's known her. But what with her emotional droughts, he's always tended to question it. He'll ignore his vows for now. Her stare tells him enough. Maybe his honesty will do something, maybe it won't. "That's the way you are."

She opens her mouth, then closes it. "Goodbye, Gale," she says, turning away and trudging her way through the grass. He sighs, crossing his arms. He'd think he's sweating if he hadn't been in the pond.

"Goodbye."


	4. emotional manipulation

a/n; You reviewers are so sweet to me. Thank you for all of your kind words. They mean a lot to me, and your enthusiasm is so infectious, it multiplies my own. Also, as an aside, each chapter is a few months to six months apart from each other. Not that it really matters - but I didn't want to be too subtle with the time. My versions of Katniss and Gale are nothing if not really, really slow in matters of the heart.

**four** - emotional manipulation

* * *

You know you're a friend when you can't remember birthdays.

Gale snorts. God, when is it? September, October… it's an autumn birthday, he thinks. Or maybe it's in the spring…

Whatever. He doesn't know. He's probably never known; he made it up. She does kind of remind him of the burning oranges of fall. Yeah, it's gotta be in October. Not that it matters. Birthdays are frivolous and superficial. They're only useful for knowing when you turn eighteen – and Gale will be eighteen in half a year.

He's not sure how he feels about it. Would he rather face the Reaping or coal mining? They're both so_ tempting_, he's not sure which one he'd prefer more.

It's not the first time he wished there was more to this. Hunting's great – he's always loved hunting. Or he's come to love it, because he had to do it, but it's always been more than that. He can't remember hunting being a chore. He's never thought of it as a tiresome thing. It's a little bitter because his father died before teaching him everything, but it brings him closer to his legacy, and it's been worth it.

He thinks Katniss might feel the same way, too. Losing a figure like a father can cripple anyone. Gale feels it hard some days, and it's difficult to verbalize any of it. He's talked to his mom about it before, and that's where the closure came from. He's always wondered how Katniss coped, if she ever did. Hell will freeze over before she ever speaks to him about it.

…unless he dares her to tell him. He's thought that before, but it seems unfair. Although -

No, he won't do that. He's unfortunately come to respect more than her skills with a bow. It can be detrimental at times, since it's an unbalanced, one-sided respect – but he knows better than to complain about it. He's used to it.

She startles him when she starts talking. He slips with the thread around the branch, cutting his thumb on the bark.

"Do you remember…the Mellark boy?"

Blood rushes down his joint and into his palm. He curses inwardly, wiping it off on his pants and then sucking the gash with his mouth.

"Bakery boy? Yeah, I remember him." The little pussy. He can't stand up to someone half his size. "Why?"

"I…know you're popular with girls. I was just wondering –"

He glances over his shoulder at her. Was she seriously going to ask him what he thought she was going to ask? Was she honestly _interested_? In a_ boy_? Of all the ones she could choose from, the bread-loving pushover?

"How do girls turn you down?"

Oh – of course she wasn't, what the hell was he thinking? He begins laughing, forgetting about his thumb until he leans against the tree with his palm, breaking up his laughter with a curse.

"Girls don't turn me down," he says, gracelessly vain.

She frowns. "Not even one?"

He only grins. "Nope."

He can see her deflate, her shoulders dropping an inch and her frown diluted into exasperation. "Then never mind."

"What? I can still give you advice."

"You can't tell me anything I don't already know."

He really begs to differ on that conclusion, but he bites his tongue with unreserved force. "What's going on, then? Is he still drooling after you?"

"He's not drooling."

He raises his brow at her, taking in how she slowly crosses her arms and avoids his gaze. He's kind of glad she's this bad at lying. It makes everything so much easier.

"I can scare him off for you, if you want."

She glares at him. "Are you kidding?"

Is he? Well, he's never cared for the kid, so he guesses he isn't kidding. Her stare is discouraging, so he opts to shrug in answer.

She huffs, shaking her head. "It isn't a big deal. Forget I brought it up."

He's never forgetting she brought it up. It'll be good ammo for later. All his dares are going to be directed at the bakery this week, and he'll laugh his ass off when she will be, undoubtedly, uncomfortable beyond reason.

A sudden sobering seizes him between the mirthful thoughts. It's an abrupt temperance, and the words spill out without him thinking.

"I can tell you one thing," he says, watching his thumb try to seal up the skin.

"What?"

"Whatever you do, don't punch him. He might think you're beginning to like him."

He smirks over at her, but he can't tell if she gets the allusion. Her frown is as deep as it was when mentioning Peeta. No identifiable changes. It's just as well.

He glances back at his handiwork, eyes following the sturdy line of the snare. Satisfied, he shifts his bow in a better position on across his back, and he chooses to take a southern path. Katniss pushes off a boulder with her foot, following behind him.

It's funny – he's taken back to the times where he couldn't allow her to walk behind him, afraid of – well, he's not sure now. An arrow to the back, maybe, or a knife in his kidney. Something cruel, and hateful, irrational at best. He wishes he could remember the instant she gained his trust. Not knowing irks him, though there's not a thing he can do to figure out why. It's been elusive and insurmountable in its annoyance.

What was it that she did? He gets the on the tip of the tongue sensation, and the answer is just an inch out of reach. She's never been particularly generous or kind. She's fiercely loyal to her family, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. They aren't friends, as she so constantly parrots at him on the off day.

"Has no girl really ever turned you down?" she ventures again, words colored with doubt. That she has such a hard time believing him is another insult on a different level. His pride, ego, whatever it is, protests. He sighs.

"No."

He feels her stare from behind, but he pinches his shoulder blades together and tries to ignore it.

"What do you tell them?"

"I smile and say hi," he says, dryly.

"That's it?"

His lips thin, pursing together in a strained line. "Unlike you, other girls have heartbeats."

It's quiet for a while after that, and his shoulder blades slowly descend back to their normal places. It must be the worst timing he's ever had, because right at that moment, something hits him fast and hard, sharp into the line of his spine.

He arches, breath hitching for several long moments. A red, hot line runs from his neck to his legs. "Shit – Damn it – the hell." He slowly drops to a kneel, and gathering some semblance of coherent functioning, peers over his shoulder.

Katniss has her hands on her hips, her stance like some kind of demon. She shrugs against his incredulous glare. "You deserved it."

She gestures to an area by him, and he sees a sizable, pointy rock to his right. The sight of it makes the tender skin on his back pound with his pulse, the pain slipping in between his eyes like a headache.

"Good _God_, Katniss." He leans toward the ground, palm resting on the grass, spitting out excess saliva that gathered around his mouth from the induced throbbing. "I was joking!"

She looks like the opposite spectrum of apologetic. "You were _not_ joking."

That tip of the tongue feeling dissolves completely. He's not sure if there was a specific time. Shit, he doesn't even know if there's a reason why he trusts her, anyway. He definitely isn't going to let her walk behind him for a few weeks. How it went from punching his shoulder to chunking rocks at him, he'll never know.

"You wouldn't have been able to tell if I was," he snarls, gritting his teeth and pushing his body upright. "You know, I wasn't kidding when I said I could scare the shit out of that bakery kid, but you obviously don't give two fucks about generosity or free acts of kindness." The discomfort at his core ruptures his anger with ease, and he's glad it's falling out of him. In truth, he's never had a problem with being an asshole. "I can't wait until I start in the mines. I'll finally be able to stop putting up with your shit for six days a week. Sounds like heaven to me."

He anticipates some evil move she'll make – he sees several rocks in the immediate area she could throw at him – her knuckles look deadlier than they did minutes ago – her arrows sparkle with hazardous glints underneath the sunlight.

She doesn't do anything he expects – and it's terribly off-putting when she isn't predictable. Instead, her eyes dull further, the frame of her mouth becomes lax, and the ridge of her eyebrows gives her an ugly, listless kind of visage.

Without saying a word, she turns around and she leaves.

He's so shocked that he only watches. When he tries to call out to her, it's strangled and confused and quiet, and he decides it'd be better to avoid any more projectiles if he tries to follow.

* * *

He feels guilty. After months, maybe years, of honing his emotions and feelings when related to Katniss Everdeen, he feels _guilty._

She's the one that gave him a lump the size of a moon. She should be apologizing for stupid, drastic behavior, asking him for some truce that would pacify name calling and heaven forbid, _teasing._

He doesn't get it. He probably won't get it for the rest of his life, but Katniss Everdeen will never make sense to him. He will never understand her. She can throw rocks and punches and frowns for as long as she wants to, and he'll forever be out of reach to why and what she means at any given time of the day.

It's only later when his feet betray him. He ends up before the foreboding door of the Everdeen household, further along in that afternoon, and he can't remember making a conscious decision to do it.

Guilt is a disgusting feeling. He takes a deep breath, and he raises a fist to the door. He knocks four staccato beats out against the wood and waits.

And waits.

Of course. He _tries_ to be the better person, and she's not even at –

The door creaks open, stopping his torrent of thoughts, and he's inherently surprised to see a younger girl, no older than twelve. She's got golden locks of hair tumbling around her shoulders, wavy, as if just loosed from a braid. She has freckles and deep blue eyes, and they glimmer with smiles underneath her skin. He immediately equates it with Katniss' eyes, how dissimilar in color but alike in temperance of emotion. She seems to recognize him, though he's never seen her in person, and she smiles with her mouth.

"Are you Gale?"

He blinks at her accuracy. Katniss has spoken of her before, but it's a strange thought to believe she'd talk about him when he isn't around.

"Only if you're Prim," he says, softening his stern look. "You're prettier than Katniss said you were."

She doesn't seem to know how to take the compliment, but he is inwardly triumphant when a blush creeps up to her cheeks from her neck. It's nice to know he can charm the younger girls, too.

"Oh, um, thank you. You are, too."

Gale laughs. "Prettier than she's said I am?"

"Better – better looking, I mean," she says, cutely sheepish. Gale looks on at her, trying and failing not to feel instinctually protective of her.

"Don't worry. I know what you meant," he says, smiling at her to dispel her distress. "I'm sure she's told you I'm a giant, nasty ogre."

Prim frowns at that. "No. She doesn't speak unkindly of you."

His eyebrows shoot up. Perhaps Katniss is keeping her under a safe blanket of disillusionment. With a girl like Prim, it would be hard to ever let such a delicate thing worry. If Katniss really told her how their relationship was, it would only cause some kind of discord among the family. Gale knows he's tried his best to keep as mum about Katniss to his own family as much as he could.

"Is she here?"

Prim shakes her head, looking so apologetic it pulls out the same emotion in Gale. "No, she's not back yet. I'm sorry. She went to the Hob about an hour ago."

An hour? Well, that does make sense with the time between when she left him to finish hunting – he assumed – to swinging by her home to drop off any scraps of meat to store. If he leaves now, maybe he can catch her on their route or coming back toward her house.

"It's alright, Prim. I guess I'll go try and find – "

"Stop flirting with my sister."

Gale starts, turning around quickly at the flaming voice of Katniss. She's nearing them on the dirty trail of the Seam, braid slightly askew, lips in a swollen, tangled frown.

He does a double take. Swollen lips? What on earth did she get herself into at the Hob?

"We weren't flirting," he says, hiding his surprise and glancing to Prim. "Were we?"

He winks at her, and Prim emits a secretive smile that is so perfect for the timing, he can't help but adore her.

Katniss just sighs loudly. "What are you doing here? You never come to my house."

Gale turns and saunters towards her, meeting her halfway. "I never come here because _you_ live here," he says, tone between serious and teasing. It comes off slightly aggressive. "What happened to your face?"

She blanches, folding her lips into her teeth and out of sight. "Nothing," she says, brisk. "What are you doing here?"

"Did someone at the Hob maul you?" he asks, feeling a grin coming on from her shifty eyes. "Your lips have grown at least twice their—"

"It's none of your business!" she shouts, shoving her way around him. "Go crawl back to your house."

No _way._ The day Katniss Everdeen gets kissed is a day Gale needs to know about it. And also– he needs to deliver what he came by for.

"You can tell me. I have a lot of experience with that kind of stuff."

She only glares. "I don't want to talk about your damn experience. I don't want you here. Just leave."

He sighs when she places her hands on her hips, staunch and stalwart standing before her front door. He can just make out Prim's blue eyes from behind her back.

"Fine," he relents, unhooking the two rabbits he had tied together on his belt. He holds them out to her. "These are because of, uh, what happened earlier."

She eyes them, but makes no move to take them. "I caught enough today."

He lips are weirdly distracting. It makes him feel a prickling of uncomfortableness settle across his shoulders.

"I did, too. Keep them for tomorrow."

"We don't need them. Your family's bigger."

"We've got plenty of food to hold us over, Katniss," he says firmly, taking a step forward and forcing the rabbits into her hands. "These are for you."

She pushes them away from her, eyes cutting through him. "You're lying."

He stills, his own eyes slitting at her words. "What?"

She shakes her head. "You don't have enough food to feed everyone, do you?"

He grits his teeth. "Why would I lie about that? We're fine - "

"The right side of your mouth twitches when you lie," she says, lifting her forefinger to indicate the area. "It's twitching right now."

He blinks at her observation. What? He has a tick when he lies? Since _when_? The sudden feeling of being caught makes him falter for too long a time.

"I...It doesn't matter if I'm lying or not," he says, setting his jaw. "These rabbits are yours. I won't leave until you take them."

"No. I'm not taking them."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

Gale can't stand it. In a growl, he says, "Look, I'm trying to apologize. Okay? I'm sorry. Earlier, I didn't...I wasn't thinking when I said the things I did. I get...mad, but that doesn't matter." He sighs. Apologizing is like pulling out teeth. He runs his free hand through his hair. His eyes find her lips again. "You obviously have a heartbeat, since you're...finding things to do at the Hob," he finishes lamely, still aware of Prim listening in.

"Gale," she begins, and her voice is softer. Rough, but softer. His ears haven't witnessed her voice like this before. "This," she gestures toward her mouth, "is probably not what you think it is. But these - I can't accept these."

He's not sure how to convince her. He exhales in frustration. "Just...for my peace of mind. Keep them. My family is going to eat tonight. I promise. Alright?"

She watches him, but she must not find his twitch because, almost like a miracle, she slowly takes the roped rabbits. He has a feeling she's doing this because Prim's around, and that's completely fine with him. She's finally acting like a human being should act.

It...makes him feel weird. He immediately goes to rectify the situation and juts his chin out at her.

"So, is that a present from the bakery?"

Katniss turns to the side, calmly and with determination, handing Prim the rabbits. "Will you take these inside? I'll be there in a second."

Prim dutifully takes them, but not before throwing one last look Gale's way. He sees the curiosity and mischief in her face before she disappears.

Katniss' demeanor changes to ice in a matter of a moment.

"No, of course it isn't," she hisses, then she goes to pull something out of her hunting sack. "It was a trade." Then she flings a loaf of bread at him, still steaming and soft and fresh as he catches it in his palms. His stomach shrinks in on itself, and hunger tightens around him like a fist.

"A trade?" he says, stupefied.

"Yeah, a trade," she says, flicking a loosened bang out of her eyes. "I can drive a better bargain without you always hovering around."

He almost chokes. "Hovering? I don't hover."

The ridge of her eyebrows fall. "You do, too. I can't ever get any good deals when you're around."

"Around the middle aged assholes, maybe," he says, fingers tightening around the tender flesh of the bread. The smell of it is so aromatic, it keeps his anger in check. "You've never complained about it before."

"Now that you're leaving for the mines soon, I won't have to."

There's the real Katniss. This _is_ only their second daily argument, and she _had_ been acting semi-decent. "What, are you going to make-out with every guy in town? For some burnt pieces of bread?" He scoffs, grimacing against the drool building up in his mouth. "Since I won't be _hovering_ all over you, you might as well take advantage."

"I'm _going_ to."

He glances down at the bread, slowly folding under the pressure of his fists. The hunger loosens its grip on the lining of his stomach, and suddenly the stench makes him feel disgusted. She's full of these big words. She acts tough and fearless - she's done it for so long that Gale is starting to believe that she _is_ tough and fearless. If she didn't have a family, she would have no weaknesses in emotional vitality. He used to think that her ineptitude in making emotional attachments was a weakness, some fatal flaw in her personality, but now he's thinking it might be her best attribute. With her brazen words and rough, effortlessly clawed hands, he'll never have to worry about her. If he dies in the mines like their fathers, he won't have to wonder if she'll be able to handle the world without him. He's not quite sure what gave him the notion that she couldn't.

"Be my guest," he says, looking back up to her face. "I dare you. Parade around town and act like you know what you're doing. Bat your lashes for an extra dime. It makes no difference. Just don't come crying to me when you make eyes at the wrong old man."

The hairs across her arms stand on end, and a rush of red runs to her eyes in a fit of fury. "I would never come crying to you about anything."

"Yeah. You won't cry to anyone. I'll bet you don't have tear ducts, either." He steps forward and pushes the smashed loaf into her chest. "Enjoy this. It won't last."

"Yes, it will."

"Nothing lasts here," he says to her, voice firm. "You and I know that better than anyone."

She rips the bread from him, keeping it close to her. She glares at him, and he glares at her. It becomes a contest inside the moments that pass.

"I'm going to make this last," she says.

He nods his head at the loaf. "You can only manipulate one poor guy so many times before he learns how to say no."

She shrugs, carelessly. "Then I guess we'll see how long it takes him."

Her words have him glancing back down to her still swollen lips, and he curiously wonders if Peeta will ever prove Gale right. It's a feat to stand up to Katniss, but he's so far out of range with the situation the boy's in with her. It's hard enough to imagine Katniss kissing anyone. It's even harder to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of them and rejecting them. All girls' lips are soft. He'd say that Katniss is the ultimate exception to that rule - but that's untrue. Anatomically speaking, even Katniss' lips would have some degree of softness.

He backs away from her, placing his hands in his pockets to save them from the sudden chill that the bread left. He straightens his stance, gaining some semblance of superiority. Her glares have always made him feel two inches shorter.

"He'll want more from you, after a while."

She's quiet for a few seconds. "I don't think so. He's not like you."

He internally cringes.

"You're right, he's not. You're the only girl he's ever talked to."

"He's talked to plenty of -"

"His mother doesn't count."

She seems to be reigning in a lot of her irrational anger, which is new. She snaps, "Don't you have to go home?"

"Not when I'm making conversation with you," he says cheekily, crossing his arms. "This topic is so _interesting._"

Her face pinches with no humor. She turns around. "Goodbye, Gale."

He catches sight of the frazzled line of her braid. It looks like it could be his own handiwork, the dark tresses fighting each other in a mess of tangles. He almost calls her back to say something spiteful, but he has a change of heart.

Spineless Peeta Mellark. Who would've thought?

"Yeah," he manages before she closes the front door on him. "See you when I see you."

His mind runs in a circular pattern as he travels home, the sky grey and overcast above him. The atmosphere is fat with moisture, but not one drop falls. It holds off until he's safely inside his house, and lightning flashes through the windows.

Peeta, he thinks. Katniss. Peeta. Receiving affection, even fake affection, from someone whom Gale's never believed to have any to give. Figures. Peeta probably doesn't know when her birthday is, either.

What a lucky bastard.


	5. distance

**five** - distance

* * *

The first time Katniss visits Gale's house, it's Gale's second Tuesday as a coal miner.

He hadn't gotten reaped that year, somehow – his name must have been in that bowl more than a hundred times. Nonetheless, he scraped by and lives seventy-two hours a week inside the earth. The pay is horrendous, but it's enough if he's wise about where he spends it.

After they parted those months ago on that dreary, late afternoon, they still hunted together – just like after every other mean, potentially nasty verbal attack they'd throw at each other. But he stopped going to the Hob with her, and she seemed somewhat pleased by the decision. She never asked him about his earnings or what he was able to procure from the patrons he bargained with, so he forced himself to keep from asking her, too.

It was a thorn in his curiosity. He wanted to know, but then he'd look at her passive face and wonder why he wanted to know. She'd never been interested in his life, so why should he still be interested in hers?

When the day came for him to start at the mines, he forewent telling her anything. It would be superfluous to tell her he'd see her in a week, as their relationship _wasn't_ one.

He hunts the first Sunday he was off, but he doesn't run into her in the forest or the Hob when he visited Sae –

"Where's your partner in crime?" she asks, grinning with all her five teeth. It's a nice smile after his long week. He basks in it.

"Dunno," he answers. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"What'd you do? Get in a fight?" she laughs.

"Almost," he says. "I started at the mines."

"Ah, that's right. It's a shame a fella like you has to hide under the rocks twelve hours a day," she says, then she winks at him.

"You're telling me," he says just as playfully.

"I've got ears, you know. The girls around here miss you."

"Not as much as I miss them," he says, though it is half-hearted. Maybe he's growing out of it – he thinks that to be unlikely. He's in his prime, but it's never been about putting names to faces or keeping any true connections. Now that he's gotten through the Reaping phase, things are becoming clearer—more permanent. He's never enjoyed the Seam, the Hob, or the sights of Twelve more than he had this past week, no matter how ugly, cruel, and dreary the landscape looked.

He guesses he could easily snag up a girl, start a conversation, and marry her after a while. It's all very systematic and unappealing when he puts it in a list. He'll always want a family, sure, but he doesn't want to know how he'll get there. There's a distinct, attractive value in the mystery, although the District doesn't hold much for enigmas.

He suddenly thinks about Katniss.

"I doubt that," she says. He forgets how perceptive Sae can be, when she wants to be. He looks at her, thinks about lying, then shrugs.

"I leave them satisfied."

"So they've said."

She's trying to get him to blush, but Gale has long let go of any semblance of modesty toward sexual acts.

"Don't sound so jealous, Sae."

She just rolls her eyes at him. "You know what else I've noticed?"

He sighs. "What?"

"Don't sound so interested, Gale," she mocks, laughing at his grimace. "About Katniss," she continues, rubbing down her counter with a dirty rag, contradicting its use. "She's really been spending her time with the bakery boy down the road. Now that you two aren't so attached at the hip, she's been crawling out of that stone shell of hers."

Gale stares at the counter, following the line of Sae's arm. It's mostly anger he feels, tinged with a listless kind of despair. The exhaustion he had been fighting hits him like a wall of brick. He lifts his hand and rubs at the spine of his nose between his eyes.

"I guess she learned something from me, after all that time."

Sae looks at him funny. "Learned something? Nah. She's too smart to take up habits from you. I suspect she's missin' you."

Gale can't contain a laugh. "Are you eating enough, Sae? Did you screw your head on wrong this morning? You've never been that sane, but…"

"Har har," she scoffs. "For a womanizer, you sure don't know girls."

He gives her a glare. "Come off it, Sae. It's only been a week. Katniss doesn't…miss people."

Sae stops her rub down, and her eyes level him. "People show things differently. I've seen enough during my time in this District to know that girl's behavior."

"Then I guess she must really miss me, right? Crawling out of her shell and hanging around some stupid kid."

Sae's nearly smiling, and Gale can't stand the smugness in her face. This is amusing to her, and he knows it. She's always had a thing about him and Katniss, and he could never convince her otherwise. After a certain amount of time, Gale got tired of trying.

"She's overcompensating because you won't be around," she says, as an explanation.

It's a vain attempt at pointing Katniss' actions to him. He shakes his head.

"She's using him for free food, Sae. She's giving him what he wants for what she wants. We've never been real friends. So stop making up delusions. You'll only be disappointed."

Gale leaves not long afterward, taking the small bundle of meat he traded Sae with his newly acquired, frugal earnings. Weekly pays were better than monthly, he supposes, though he's almost certain he still did nothing to discourage Sae.

And then Katniss shows up on his doorstep two days later.

Hazelle answers, and Gale's trying not to fall asleep in his dinner. His lungs are heavy with coal debris, and his eyes can't focus. The conditioning process, the veterans call it. It lasts a month before the wearied limbs begin strengthening against the time under duress.

"Hello," he hears her answer distantly. "Can I help you with…oh. You must be Katniss. I've heard several things about you from Gale. Won't you come in? You can join us for dinner if you'd like."

"Thank you for the offer," comes the flustered reply. She must not have been expecting such a warm welcome. After all their ventures to doors in the neighborhood, Gale isn't used to nice greetings either, though – then Gale processes that _Katniss_ is at the door.

He stands up, stumbling slightly on his feet. He glances to the front door, but he can only see his mother's back.

"But I've already had dinner. I was just wondering if Gale was here?"

Gale's already half-way to them when Hazelle turns around. "Yes, of course, he's – "

"Katniss?" he blurts, coming up from behind Hazelle. He blinks at her, but her figure in the doorway doesn't disappear. "What are you doing here?"

"I was…" she hesitates. "I was just hoping to talk to you for a minute."

His mind tries to run through any and all kinds of emergencies that she might need his help with, but all of the coherent ones are muddled by the reason why she'd be here, at this time at night, looking uncomfortable.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he says, nodding to his mom and stepping outside. The door closes behind him, and his senses clear a bit with the fresh air. "Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head, and he waits expectantly, watching her struggle to say what she came to say. She's quite the sight for sore eyes, with her fatigued braid and stray strands of loose hair.

Peeta must have messed it up again, today. Gale knew he, himself, would muss it up, even pull it out of its band and let it run free over her shoulders. What does she look like with her hair down? He probably won't ever know.

"So what is it?" he asks. "Are you alright?"

"I'm…fine," she says. "Listen. You were right about…Peeta."

He rubs at his face. "He said no to you?"

"No, he…wants more than I can give."

Than _she_ wants to give, he thinks. "Shocker."

"I'm…not sure what to do."

She seems to be truly lost. Gale gets the instinctual vibe to help her, even though he's never helped her with anything personal. This is new territory.

"What's it been now, a couple months?"

"…yes."

Sae's talk is still fresh in his mind. "I figured you two would be buddy-buddy by now."

He sees her cheek collapse as she bites the inside of it. "Not…not too much. I have a hard time getting…"

"Close to people," he finishes absently. "Yeah, I know."

"I've just been…we've just been…" she trails, eyes furrowing. She takes to fingering the tail of her braid, staring at it determinedly. "Kissing is easier, now."

That pulls a smile out of him. "You think kissing is easy?"

She remains staring at her hair, so he isn't sure if she's embarrassed by her quasi-confession. The light is too dim to tell. "It's…I'm not as uncomfortable as I used to be."

He frowns. "You're still uncomfortable with it?"

She gives a half-shrug, sighing. "It's just something to get used to."

"Katniss," he says, pushing off the wall by the door. "Kissing should be fun. I thought you might have been…starting to enjoy yourself."

She shakes her head again. "It's never been about enjoying anything. It was just trading. And then I would start to feel guilty, so I spent time with him without making him give me anything. I—he's nice. His mother is really mean to him, so I thought…" she ends with a huff. "I gave him the wrong idea."

"If you spend enough time with someone, they tend to think you like them."

She glances up to him, opening her mouth but deciding not to say anything. She pauses, then says, "It's my fault. I'm not sure how to fix it."

It's truly plaguing her. He's never seen her so concerned about a topic, before, besides their early days hunting together.

"He wants to be more than friends, right? Just tell him you like where you are. It's simple."

Her face pinches in a frown. "But if I say that, his feelings will be hurt and…I don't want that."

It takes Gale a moment to be certain, but he had concluded right. She's come to care about the boy. He didn't think he'd be present to the day where Katniss would be worried about hurting someone.

"When have you ever concerned yourself with…" he stops himself by biting his tongue. He doesn't think there are any boulders in the area, but he's been wrong before. "I mean, it's good that you care. You've opened up to him enough to…care."

He just doesn't get it. What's several years compared to a few months? Perhaps Peeta is better at expressing himself, better at weaving words with intent and vulnerability. They must be different breeds of character, on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Gale can only give Peeta the benefit of the doubt if he induced Katniss to show up on his doorstep for the first time in four odd years.

"I don't like it," she says quietly.

"It can be a burden," he concedes. "But if you care for him this much, to talk to me," he breathes a laugh, "of all people, then maybe you should give him the chance. You can always say no after you try it out." He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "That's what people do, sometimes, you know. They date."

He can see her shoulders tense, and she's getting prickly – she might be getting defensive. It occurs to him that Peeta probably never talks to her with the tones he uses.

"Sorry," he says, looking away from her. "It's ah, been a long day."

"You're tired," she observes, eyes traveling over him.

"A little," he says.

"A lot," she counters, staring hard at his face for the first time. "You should get more rest."

"Okay, mom."

"Gale."

He holds up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."

"I'll—go. I've kept you for too long," she says, already turning away.

"No, you haven't. I'm glad you came by," he says, the words honest and sticky. Half of the rest of them still feel lodged in his throat. "And think about it, alright? If you care about him or…well, think about it. You never know what could happen."

"I don't want a boyfriend, Gale," she says, stopping and glancing over her shoulder to him. "But I'll think about what you said."

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," she turns. "Goodnight."

Her words fade into the blackness of the night, whispered in between the stars. Gale watches her go, and he tries and fails to pinpoint the emotion that conquers above the rest inside of him.

"Goodnight," he answers to no one.

In the end, he hopes she tells Peeta no. It is a purely selfish hope.


	6. change

a/n; Thanks as always, you guys. You always leave such wonderful comments, and I'll get back to them soon. In the meantime, here's a chapter.

**six** - change

* * *

It's a Sunday. One beautiful, slow Sunday out of many.

Gale hunts for a time, then takes a break and finds the pond. He hasn't been to it in what feels like years, though it can't be more than a few months. He begins stripping when it comes into view, not caring where his shirt lands or what brush his pants get stuck in between. He closes in on the water, and he folds into it like sugar, melting into the coolness and embracing the shock against his skin.

He leaves his head above the water line, wetting his hair and looking up to the sky, squinting against the glare of the sun.

It's a gorgeous day. There isn't one cloud marring the vast blue above him, and the leaves are in a standstill from the absent breezes. The hour is tranquil and peaceful, lugubrious and sluggish, steady and sweet. Gale could stay in the moment forever and be happy if he thinks of nothing but the feel of water like cold fingers running across him, soothing the week away.

He's always alone on his Sundays. Katniss is never around when he's there, and he likes the lack of company. It's easy not to think when there isn't another soul miles around. He feels secure by the loneliness without ever feeling the hole that loneliness can bring.

He listens to the birds sing, and to the squirrels running across the ground vegetation with their constant, manic sense. He closes his eyes and listens to the heartbeat of the forest in tandem with his own, and he wishes he could sink into the mud below the water and become part of it for a moment or a day.

He used to fantasize about running away when he was younger – younger being only a year or two years prior to now – but it was a nice gateway to another place for a while. He's been a closet dreamer for as long as he can remember. He never truly confided in anyone his ideas or wants or maybes. He told Katniss a few, but she kept him grounded and from taking an idea and running with it. She mostly did it by discouragement or talk of family - and it got to him every time.

He hasn't seen her in a few weeks, since her surprise visit at his door. It might be a month, it might be two. All the days run together, except for the Sundays. They're the only ones where he can pause and slow down for a while. He's been slowly acclimatizing to bringing Rory with him to hunt on Sundays, to keep the process going. He's only been with Rory twice, but it's progress Gale will take.

He's not quite sure what happened between Katniss and Peeta. He's heard about a few things through the Hob, but as many rumors spread through the stores as leaves on a tree. He hasn't seen hair of her, anyway. He'd rather get it from the horse's mouth, but he's left Katniss alone for long enough, even before he started at the mines. He doesn't want to break his streak so soon.

Besides, if she wants to talk to him, she's proven one precious time that she will. He's left it at that.

He climbs out of the pond after a good amount of time, and he lies on the grasses. They act like a soft pillow beneath his back, and he lets the sun dry him off.

Eventually, a shadow falls over his face. He opens one eye, expecting a stray cloud to have appeared, but he finds Katniss instead. His other eye opens and he looks up at her, suddenly alert, the peace fading away into the background.

"Katniss."

"Hi, Gale. I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"

He rubs a hand down his face, and he sits up. "No, I wasn't. Just listening."

"I like listening, too," she says, walking around toward the superior point of the pond, curling her shirt above her head and rolling it onto the ground. "It's always alive in here."

"Yeah," he says, eyes distracted by her bared torso. She shimmies out of her pants, laying them next to her shirt. He starts comparing to the last time he saw her like this, with her flat stomach and flat chest and resemblance to a skinny little tree.

She doesn't have a flat chest, anymore. Not quite. The band around her breasts create cleavage. When she turns, he can see the strength in her thighs, and the indents in her skin that ripple with muscle. And her ass is high and tight and it…

He thinks better of it, and he glances away from her before he has to explain himself out of a bad situation. He scans through his memories, trying to find the time she finally started to grow the seemingly sudden curves she has now from the time she was still an awkward, still-in-tandem, girl.

It must have been when he did his best to stop paying attention to her. It was true he didn't think he had done that great of a job, but looking at her now, he guesses he really put in the effort to defy his affection for her.

He glances back to her, and his eye catch on the dip in her skin between her hip and her underwear. It's been - way too long since he's been with a girl.

"What made you want to swim?" he asks, unsure of what to say.

"It was a nice day," she answers. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

He glances questioningly to her, but then he looks away again. "You did?"

"Yeah," she says, going to sit on the bank and dipping her feet into the water. "I thought you'd be hunting, but I couldn't find you."

"Was there something you needed?"

She stares down at the water, as if watching her feet bend in the sunlight. "No," she begins slowly. "I just…" she shakes her head. "It's been a while."

He's not sure how to respond. "Yeah, it has."

He feels uncharacteristically unbalanced. He thinks it might be because she thinks it's _good to see him_. The lack of clothes is getting to him too, he'll admit it.

"How's mining?"

The thought of something normal gets him to relax a little. He exhales loudly. "It's everything they said it'd be. The best part is I get to spend quality time with a dozen, sweaty guys."

"That sounds like a dream."

He grins at her, pleasantly surprised at her joke. It's been a long, long time since she's said one around him.

"For you, maybe," he says, waving his hand. "The stench is terrible."

"Must be a hard life," she says back, and he looks at her just in time to see a skeleton smile on her face. It's kind of shocking. What's gotten into her today? Jokes and a smile? Less than a year apart from each other?

Something's wrong.

"What's got you in such a good mood today?" he asks, not able to help it. He's got a few solid ideas - pretty much no-brainers. It's either something about Prim or Peeta. Those are the only two things she'd get happy about - if she does, indeed, become happy over a boy.

...Gale is hedging his bets on Prim.

Katniss shrugs in response, a strangely satisfied look of contentment across her face. She glances over to him, leaning back with her palms sinking into the bank.

"It's a nice day."

He sighs, glancing around the scenery. She could be avoiding her true reason, but he can't say she's wrong.

"These types of days never last long enough," he says, gauging the tilt of the sun in the sky. It's sometime past noon. He still has a few hours before he needs to finish his hunts and make his trades. He promised Sae a turkey this week, for whatever reason. She probably thinks she has him all wrapped around her finger - but then, she _is_ the only friend he's actually seemed to have kept consistently in the past years. He's tempted to glance at Katniss and see what she's doing, but thinks better of it. He closes his eyes to kill the temptation, and a sudden exhaustion is pulled to the surface.

"I'm sorry you don't get to enjoy many of them, anymore."

Her strangely unforced kindness starts to make him internally fidget. "It's what I was born to do," he answers, the words unintentionally dry on his tongue.

"If you had been born just a few miles further into town, you wouldn't be born to do it."

He cracks his eyes open, the blue of the sky almost too brilliant. He's not in the mood to analyze her face and her tone, even though he sort of misses the game it used to be. He'd rather not give himself any more headaches over it. He's too out of practice.

"You're right," he mumbles. "I might have been born to bake bread for the rest of my life. How is that, anyway? The bread boy thing."

It's quiet for a moment, then two, and it stretches out long enough for Gale to begin regretting the question. His irrational soreness about the topic rears up, and underneath the tiredness, he feels the slow swell of anger and anxiety. He tries to quell it by swallowing with apathy. "Sorry. Never mind. Only friends ask each other personal questions, and we aren't."

"No, it's fine," she says. It's in a rough, rushed breath. "We're...friends. It's hard to spend time with him when I know he wishes..." she trails. "It's the way he looks at me, sometimes, that makes it unbearable."

He squints against the sunlight. That's another thing about the kid. He's as open as a book, leading with his heart instead of a shield. Gale's not sure what that's like. He's always been a little careful with that. Disappointment is a cruel thing, and it's easier, to fight down the crippling emotions than falling madly into them, trusting that they will reward him for his daring recklessness. It's worked for him so far. He doesn't have the energy to change it.

"Did you give him a chance?"

He hears a scuff against the grass. "I think so."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I_ think_ so. I don't know how this is supposed to work, Gale. I've never had to deal with this before. It's not like what you do with girls at the slag heap. It's different. It's - "

Gale opens his eyes fully, and he turns his head to look at her. She's got her knees pulled up to her chest, and her eyes are focused on the pond.

"I know it's different," he says, treading with his words. He mentally steps over the twinges of emotion that he feels, the ones he really doesn't like dealing with. "I know he matters. The girls I'm with never do."

She glances to him for a moment, but she doesn't catch his eye.

"It's just that he's so sure in what he wants, and I'm...not. I'm not sure at all."

Her uncertainty is present all over her. It's a different uncertainty than the one he saw when she came to his house. That was a juvenile, anxious worry. She only needed a little push. Now, the uncertainty is more mature. Her face is less distraught and more conflicted, as if she's deciding on a fork in a road and knowing where each path leads, conscious of the consequences of each one.

This is probably good for her. She needs to learn how to make decisions that she wants. She's beginning to rely on herself instead of thinking about how anyone else will be affected. She's been selfless as long as he's known her, always thinking of her family first. It's a different category altogether wanting something and being able to have it, and to let yourself have it.

"Then tell him exactly that, Katniss," he says. "Tell him everything you just said to me. I've heard he's a good guy. He'll listen, and he'll respect what you have to say. I'll bet he kisses the ground you walk on, doesn't he?"

He thinks for a split second that she's going to find something to chuck at him. She ends up rolling her eyes, almost gracing him with a smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Gale."

He glances away from her, eyes tracking an imaginary trail to the opposite direction of where she's sitting. He cringes, then he mans up and clears his throat. He's going to hate saying it, but it's either now or never. He's not sure when he'll see her next, or when there will be an opportunity as good as this one.

"You deserve a decent guy, Katniss. Never compromise for something you know you don't want because you feel bad. Not that you would, but...wouldn't it be awful if you started a family with someone that you just really didn't - "

"I don't want a family," she says, recoiling at his words.

"Girls change their minds," he waves off. "But Peeta's a...good guy. If you're happy, be happy. It's not a marriage proposal. Don't hurt yourself by thinking too hard."

She opens her mouth, then she closes it. "Yeah. I know. I'll try not to."

He fidgets again. He's _got_ to get out of here. He goes to stand, glancing for his clothes in a mild state of panicked determination. When he sees his shirt, he tries not to charge for it.

"Are you leaving?" Katniss asks, standing up.

"Yeah," he answers, shoving his head through his shirt. Now to find his pants. Where the hell were his pants? "I need to finish hunting."

"Oh," she says, and he can hear her following him. "I can help, if you want."

She's never offered voluntarily before. He pauses and looks at her. "Ah, thanks, but it shouldn't take me long."

"Are you sure?"

He finds his pants a few feet into the brush, stuck in a mass of twigs. He grabs them quickly, a little off balance at her question. "I'm sure. Just have a few snares to check, then have to find wild turkey for Sae." He pushes a leg through his pants.

"For Sae?" she raises a brow.

"I promised her a while back. She said she'd have something good to bargain with, too," he says, shrugging and discreetly stepping a foot backward. He spies his boots just up the way of the trail they're on and continues his way towards them. Katniss continues to follow as well, and he grits his teeth.

"She's been generous with her trades, these days."

"She gives you nice things, too? All this time, I thought it was because she missed me."

Katniss half-shrugs. "Just a few things. But she _does_ miss you. She asks me about you whenever I go see her."

Gale's stomach almost sours. Sae better have enough of a mind left to leave Katniss out of her seemingly favorite, nonexistent soap opera of _Katniss and Gale, Secret Lovers_. It would be like her to try and plant something on Katniss' end, but she's been oblivious for so long, and so distracted by Peeta - he's confident Sae doesn't have a chance.

Gale scoffs a laugh. "She asks me about you, too."

"Me?" she asks. "She sees me a lot more than you."

Gale busies himself with his boots, shaking out stray leaves that found their way into them. "She used to, I mean," he amends. It wasn't a total lie. "She used to wonder why we didn't trade together, anymore."

Katniss has a look of recognition on her face. "She asked me the same thing. She said she thought I finally scared you off."

Gale quirks his face. "Like she really believed you could scare me. What'd you say?"

She doesn't answer right away, and though he's mostly used to her slowness in words, the expression that flashes across her face gets him to pause.

"I told her you started in the mines," she answers, face inscrutable. "She said something about it being a waste that you couldn't be above ground."

Gale barks a laugh, adjusting his bow across his back. "She mentioned that to me, too."

"I think she has a crush on you."

He smiles, and forces himself to stop questioning her good mood - even though it's against every idea he's had about her. "I think she's got a bigger crush on my kills."

"Maybe," she says. "A lot of girls like you for some reason."

Yeah, for _some_ reason. "It's my sparkling personality."

"I thought it was your sharp wit."

"It's gotta be the combination that's so irresistible."

Her lips curl slightly at the edges, and that's when he decides that if he doesn't leave now, he'll let her follow him into the hunting grounds of the forest, and he'll spend the whole day with her and this...not unwelcome, out of character lightness she's found, and he'll imagine her in her underwear at least once every day from here on out - and all those thoughts are too lovely to have any good endings attached to them.

"I should head out before it gets any later," he says, garnering one last glance at her. "I'll see you around."

She makes a half-step forward, then hesitates and pulls it back. "See you around."

It is hard to leave her behind on such a beautiful day. He never believed there would come a day when it was a difficulty.


	7. a binding tie

a/n; or, you know, I won't get back to your reviews. I'm sorry. I blame organic chemistry. My brain's melting. I hate ester synthesis. But whatever. Excuses.

**seven** - a binding tie

* * *

The last time there was a major accident in the mines was the day Gale's and Katniss' fathers died.

Gale hasn't thought much about the danger that the tunnels bring or the consequence of each pickaxe digging into the earth. There's always going to be the hovering of death above his head, with dirt and debris tapping at his shoulder with a facetious kind of mocking.

One thing Gale knows, however, is that he doesn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. It seems a lot like it right now, coal dust sticking to the insides of his lungs and callouses lingering on his palms, but he swears his demise won't consist of the weight of the world crushing his bones. This place can't shove him down a path of repeated history. What would be the point of his life if it did?

Thinking about all of it always spikes his temper, and the dark hours of work fuel the bright, hungry fire in the pit of his stomach.

It's the feeling that must awaken all his senses when he comes up from the elevator, and he hears things and smells things and tastes things with a relentless hypersensitivity. He gets this way occasionally without the anger, but it seems to bring out the reception of the environment just a bit more clearly.

He can deny it all he wants – his weaknesses, his hate, and his overwhelming fear of mortality. It's on one of these evenings when he finds himself walking past his house, his feet carrying him down a few more blocks until he's in front of Katniss' house. Guilt brought him here, once, a long time ago. He never thought fear would be the next thing.

He expects to be greeted by Prim, but he's surprised at the sight of Katniss' mother as she appears in the doorway. Her eyes are withdrawn, her cheekbones sharp and a dominant feature of her face. There is something very austere in her stance, sheltered and wounded like a bird with a broken wing.

"Hello," she says, eyes glancing over him. "Is there something you need, young man?"

"Is Katniss here?" he asks.

Her acknowledgement of who he is passes across her face in a sequence of stages. "You're Gale, aren't you?"

In the flesh. He nods. "You must be Miss Everdeen."

She smiles, and it's scarily reminiscent of Katniss' skeleton smile. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name. I appreciate everything you've done over the years with her."

Gale falters, unused to gratitude. "It's ah, been no problem."

She continues to smile. "She's inside. Would you like to come in?"

"No," he says quickly and cringes at how rude it sounds. "No, thank you."

Miss Everdeen seems to take no notice. "I'll get her."

It's moments before Katniss walks through the doorway, face wrinkled with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He crosses his arms across his chest, and the sight of her fills him with a second's worth of hesitation.

"I've been thinking," he starts, exhaling. "Thinking for a long time about this – since before I started at the mines, but I didn't know what to do about it."

She steps forward, and he avoids her gaze. "I know it might not be my place to ask this, but you're the only one I could trust with this."

"Gale, what are you –"

"If I die," he says, cutting her off. "If there's another accident down in the mines, and I'm not able to make it out of there—promise me you'll help my family."

Her eyes widen. "Gale—"

"I've been teaching Rory everything I know," he says. "And he's a natural, better than I hoped. He'll do just fine if I'm gone. But just in case, I need to know someone else will watch out for them."

Katniss shakes her head. "You're not going to die down there, Gale."

He grits his teeth. "But if I do. I need you to tell me you'll watch them. You can lie to me, I don't care, I just need to hear you say that you will – please."

His voice doesn't crack, and he thinks he holds up admirably underneath her stare, but the anger and frustration with himself are what help the most.

"I will," she says softly. "If you die…I will."

He nods. "Okay."

He begins to turn away, his impulsive courage dwindling, but she reaches out and grabs his wrist.

"Hey," she says. "You're not going to die."

"Don't sound so hopeful."

"You're not."

Her conviction is a kind gesture, but he's counting on the respect she may or may not have for him, and their similar dedication for their families for her to follow through. He pulls his arm, but she holds fast.

"Okay?" she says.

He looks down at her hand, then back up to her face. "Okay."

Her grip loosens, and she lets his wrist go. Then she steps forward and shocks him by wrapping her arms around his neck, curling around him in a hug.

He stands like a ramrod, arms lifeless by his sides. "What – "

"I will, okay? I promise."

Any doubt he had about her vanishes once the words find their way into his ear. He suddenly feels like he's five years younger, hugging his mother as she cried once, and the only time, into his neck. Except this is better. A weight lifts from him, and his frustration lessens and lessens until it melts into a puddle between their feet. He lifts an arm and hugs her back.

While it is very unlike either of them to cross this boundary of physicality and be so close to one another, he doesn't mind. After the way her words sounded, he can't mind it, and especially not after the complete uncoiling of his restless burden. His anger is decreased, for the moment, and the hot fire in his stomach suffocates into a small flame.

"Thank you," he says.

"You don't have to thank me," she says, untangling herself from him. She tilts her head to look up to his face. "I'm glad you could trust me enough with something like this."

He repels her gaze with sarcasm. "It was either you or Sae, so…"

"You haven't asked Sae? I figured she turned you down."

He briefly smiles at her light reciprocation. It's refreshing after breathing so much dirt, but it was not something he was expecting. It is not the way their conversations go, and it gets him uncomfortable with the repercussions it'll surely provoke on him later, so it prompts him to right the direction.

His tone comes out with a tint of condescension. "The truth's out. I'm worse at making friends than you are."

"Good thing you had me for backup, huh?"

"More like a last resort."

It works like he wants it to. Her face develops a cold, practiced sheen over its clumsy warmth. "…yeah. But – you don't have to worry."

"I'm always going to worry," he says. "Now I'll just worry a little less."

"Okay," she says. "That's…good to know, then."

He slips away from the small front porch. "I've got to go. Bye, Katniss."

She crosses her arms over her chest and stays back. "Good—goodbye, Gale."

* * *

Weeks pass, maybe months. Gale doesn't much dwell on the passing of days, but as the time trudges on, so does Gale's concentration. He's always been able to immerse himself in the mindless tasks of coal mining, the work barricading any stray thoughts he conceives. He catches himself in absent-minded mistakes he usually never makes, like forgetting a step in the mining process, or finding himself walking in the wrong direction to the lunch alcove or the equipment area. The process is all very systematic, and muscle memory contains the bulk of the effort, so it's unusual that he's so distracted. He's not even sure why - it isn't as if he's fixated on a thought or a regret or any of the distractions men might have in the district. He's not quite sure why it's been harder and harder to focus on the simplest of tasks.

It's during one of these stretches of days when Vlad, an older man in his thirties or forties, claps Gale's shoulder. Gale jumps at the sudden action, his pick axe embarrassingly falling out of his hands. Vlad laughs heartily, his breath gritty and rough as it hits Gale's surprised face.

"What's got you so strung up, boy? You've been acting strange all week."

Vlad wasn't authorized in this sector - but rules hardly mattered to him. He'd always preached to Gale, once a man survives to be his age, pesky things like disorganized order and threats don't matter nearly as much. Gale wasn't sure if it was a display of bravado when he had just started in the mines, but he can safely say that it never was.

The man even took on the job of training Gale in the beginning weeks, and seemed to take a liking to him, which Gale thought was an oddity. He didn't question, however. Vlad was good at mining.

"Nothing," Gale answers, picking up his dropped tool.

"Nothing, hah!" Vlad exclaims brazenly. "Stop being a pussy."

Gale grimaces. "I don't feel like putting up with your shit, Vlad. Go back to your sector."

Vlad is unfazed. "You know what I think?"

"I don't care what you think."

"You, m'boy, need a nice, long screwing. The warmth of a woman is second to none in curing that look on any man's face."

Fucking was always Vlad's suggestion; it didn't matter what for. He's never cared for fidelity. Gale goes back to breaking through dirt and rocks, forgoing an eyeroll.

"Great idea," Gale grunts. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

Vlad crinkles his eyes in amusement. "Ah, I get it. You've got the sickness of the heart, don't ya?"

At this, Gale laughs. "Not even close."

Vlad ignores him. "Who is she? She must have done a number on you to make you turn down screwing."

"I didn't turn it down," Gale says. "There's no girl."

Vlad ponders for a moment, and Gale gives him a nasty glare. After a moment, Vlad shrugs and then grins.

"Yeah, alright. Well, next time you're in the Hob, ask around for Lleyton. Take her to that slag heap you're so fond of. She'll get your head on straight, believe me." Vlad hits his back again, eyes glinting with memory, and he leaves.

Gale sighs, watching Vlad leave for a moment, then turns back to his work. It has been a while. Maybe that'll work out the kinks.

* * *

It's on the next Saturday night, when Gale gets off work, that he decides to go to the Hob.

He checks in on his family first, but Rory's handling them well. Hazelle is in the process of making a rabbit stew when he walks in, and he's greeted by smiles and the mouthwatering smell.

After dinner, he slips away into the night, the stars bright against the black sky. The air is cool and sweet, fragrant with stale pine from the forest on his right and the smoke billowing from the center of town. He walks leisurely, his stomach warm with stew and his feet weary from the week.

He's nearly looking forward to what awaits him – he thinks he might take Vlad's advice and seek out this Lleyton girl. Or he could even go to old friends, like Vanessa and Melanie. He isn't sure. He'll wait to see what kind of inspiration strikes.

When he arrives, he's mixed into the throng of Saturday night. It's usually busy on any day of the week, but the weekends always seem to be a more popular time.

He spies a few of the miners he knows eating at a table outside of Sae's, a few girls with them. He notices Darius and a few other Peacekeepers, downing half-pints of extremely cheap ale. The barley and hops they manage to produce here just manage to be brewed into a kind of amber sludge with a thick, sticky froth building on the top, but everyone is happy to take whatever luxury they can get.

Gale takes a reluctant seat at Sae's counter, eyes roving over the patrons surrounding him. He people watches for a moment, then he puts his efforts into finding the small caches of tables with girls, and which ones he could easily slip himself into. There are not many, but there are enough, and he's judging the twist of a brunette's bun when his eyes catch on a tiny, cramped table just on the edge of his vision. It's in the outer perimeter of all the other tables and benches, nearly concealed by the busy layers of the Hob's square. His back automatically straightens when he sees Katniss, and he's hit with sudden awareness. She smiles at something Peeta says, sitting beside him, and a bubble of laughter surfaces from her. Peeta preens like a peacock, grinning and leaning into her with a playful push.

Gale feels a restlessness come over him, an abrupt need to fulfill any kind of task. His mind blurs with distraction again, and he goes about trying to find that brunette with the bun, and the rest of the table which seems to have impossibly vanished from the scene.

He sighs frustratedly, running a hand over his face. This was a waste of time, and deep down, he knows it. He'd much rather be at home, Posy curling into his lap with an impromptu mission to read him her favorite bedtime story or to draw him a picture with her newly honed ability she's found with dulled pieces of soft granite, and falling asleep with her warmth and contentment.

He is about to stand when Sae appears, stopping him from leaving the counter with her five-toothed grin.

"What do you think you're doing, paying me a visit on a Saturday night?"

Gale shrugs. "I was having withdrawals."

Sae snorts, putting her left hand on her hip. "You want anything? I've got a special on venison."

"I don't have anything to give you."

"Oh, you give me things all the time, and I usually don't need them. I never told you because you're always so ready to give them away." Sae's eyes twinkle at him. "Now, what d'ya want?"

He declines her offer and tries to leave, but she persistently fills up a glass with thick, amber froth and puts it in front of him.

"On the house. Now drink up before I change my mind."

The foam spills over the glass, making its slow descent toward the splintered countertop. It reminds Gale of a lazy trailing of drool. He grimaces, and the sight is enough to get up and leave the gift to make a mess of itself. But Gale likes Sae, and so he stays. He doesn't allow the sludge anywhere near his mouth - he almost has a mind to think that he can see things crawling inside the glass - but he spins it around aimlessly with his fingers, making music with the smooth glass rubbing against the bar.

Sae's too busy to bother him for a time, and he's not sure how long he sits there, distracted by the color of the beer and the tumultuous conversations mixing together around him. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears, right beside his ear, "I dare you to chug that."

The glass teeters on its bottom edge from the jerk of his fingers, righting itself in a precarious swing and dumping half the frothy, swampy collection of foam into a puddle. Gale blinks to his left, wondering how long Katniss has been sitting in the seat beside him.

She gestures to the glass again after he stares at her for a moment. She seems to be amused at his reaction. "Well? You gonna drink it, or not?"

His mind comes back to him, and he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "That's a dare I'll gladly lose, thanks."

"Really?" she says, eying the mug. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"Dunno," he shrugs. "But I'd rather be drunk before I drink it." Gale had tried the white liquor Haymitch Abernathy always had a crate of in his house - a few of his younger mining friends had smuggled it out of his house once - and he much preferred the eye-watering burn of high alcohol content. This beer, with its questionable origins and ingredients, would more than likely give him a stomachache than a buzz.

"That's no fun. Why'd you order it if you weren't going to drink it?"

If she wanted fun, she'd still be sitting with whats-his-face. He refrains from commenting, and says instead, "If you want to try it, be my guest. Sae was the one who shoved it in front of me. Don't worry - it's on the house."

She seems to contemplate it for a second, then she looks at him funny. "Sae gave you something for free?"

"That's part of the reason why I don't want to drink it. I'm sure she put something in it." He squints at it. "You can see things moving."

Katniss looks, too. "I think that's carbonation."

Gale laughs abruptly at her dry tone. "Right. I'm afraid of bubbles."

She glances to him for a while, and he shifts into a more comfortable position, adjusting his elbows and crossing his arms on the table.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answers, though the answer is too quickly spoken. Then she says, "I never see you here on Saturdays."

"I was girl shopping," he says, and it's out before he can think to filter himself. At her bemused look, he starts laughing again. It's been too long since he's talked to her, and it feels...strange. A rock in the gut kind of feeling. It's because of his acute awareness, and her presence, and his nerves. Probably. "It's been a long time since I took one to the slag heap."

Her brows furrow, and he's expecting her to give him a disgusted look or to verbalize it. She surprises him by saying, "You didn't seem to be looking that hard."

He makes a noise, but he wonders absently, again, how long she's been there. "I'm picky."

He's jolted out of his tense posture by her laughter. He stares at her. She snorts, "You are definitely _not_ picky."

"I can be picky."

"Whatever. I've never seen you be choosy when picking girls. It's like you just take whichever one is around."

He is, for some reason, annoyed by this. Probably because it's true.

Emboldened with the annoyance and a flare of spite, he leans toward her. The small smile on her face fades just slightly, and he eyes it lecherously.

"You're around. I guess that means I'll take you."

She leans away from him. "Aren't you supposed to ask, first?"

"I usually never have to."

_Pig,_ he's expecting her to say, chin defiant and defensive, eyes hard like the rocks she threw at him once, a long time ago. He remembers when she couldn't fathom why no girl had ever turned him down.

"I've heard I'm a little...different than the usual girls around here."

"Wow, who told you that?" he says sarcastically. "Everyone who lives here?"

She scowls. "It's been the general consensus for as long as I can remember." She pushes at his shoulder. "Don't be mean."

He leans a little further. "When have I not been mean?"

"You've never been mean. You're just a grouch."

"A grouch? I'm not a grouch."

"Yes, you are. You're mad, and you're unhappy."

Her words are like a slap to the heart. He stills for a second, a great rush of nauseating déjà vu punching him in the gut. He told her that once, and he had meant it. Is she getting back at him now, all this time later out of spite or some long, building grudge she kept, or did she mean it like he did? He gathers himself after a moment. "Maybe," he answers. "You know what'll fix it?"

She's very guarded as she looks at him, like he's a snake about to strike.

"Um..."

"Taking you to the slag heap."

She recoils. "I thought you were joking."

"The girls I take there never matter, remember? Whatever happened wouldn't mean anything," he says, trying to act like his heart isn't in his throat. He's not quite sure what he's saying. "But I guess a kiss could work, too."

Her mouth parts slightly, and he can't tell if she's speechless or disgusted or a mixture of both.

"I would dare you..." he begins, waiting for her to do something. "But I have a feeling you'd turn it down - just like I did yours." He points to the drying, sticky foam, and then he pushes the heavy ambered glass toward her.

He's just - sick of it, he thinks. Sick and tired of her and what they used to be and what he wished they could have been - he'd hoped for friendship once, and then, he'll admit, maybe something else. He's only bound them by one stupid promise, and it seems like that's all he can afford besides their years spent in the forest together.

He looks at her for a moment, and he resents the fact that he would still stay beside her, if she asked.

"Drink up, Catnip," he says. "I've heard things are sweetest when they're free." Then he stands up from the bar and takes his leave.

* * *

She doesn't let him get very far.

She catches up to him when he's on the dirt path winding to the Seam, and she grabs his arm as if it's a link in a chain. It might be painful—but he's too off-put by the fact that she followed him.

The startling awareness that he's felt since he noticed her at the Hob has not left. It's put him on edge since the first time he realized the sensation. The years muddle together when he thinks about it, and he can't place the moment when he was aware of everything she did when she was near him. He never could point out a moment with a feeling, anyway, but the important thing is that comparing this clarity to the monotonous blur of the past months—he likes this sharpness a little bit better. He just doesn't like that it's her who extracts it from him.

"Let go of me, Katniss," he grunts, jerking his arm roughly. She gives a valiant effort to hold onto him, but she fails. He tries to take off again.

"Would you wait a second?" she says. It's not a plea, but it's angry, and if he coaxes the flame he can indulge in Katniss' wrath.

"What for?"

"What for? Well, first, I _know_ you can't have anything better to do."

He opens his mouth to give a scathing comment, but she bulldozes right past him.

"Second, this is the first time I've seen you in how long? Five months?"

He shrugs. He honestly couldn't say. "What does it matter?"

She stares at him like he's grown two heads. "Are you kidding? The last time I saw you, I agreed to a huge favor for you, and you've acted like it didn't mean anything when you and I both know it means so much."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to dedicate all of my time to you after you agreed. What else would you like me to do, Catnip? Cater to your every whim? Oh, wait I forgot, you've already got someone to do that for you."

She fumes, red rising to the surface of her cheeks. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm trying to say that I've looked for you, Gale, and it's like you fell off the face of the earth. You were never in the forest on Sundays, I never saw you at the Hob. It's almost like you've been avoiding me, and I don't know why."

"Avoiding you?" he almost shouts. "I live two blocks away from you. I couldn't avoid you even if I _wanted_ to."

She opens her mouth, looking fit to burst, but she checks herself abruptly as she looks away from him. She shakes her head. "It doesn't change that this is the first time that I've seen you in a long time. I was going to say that it was good to see you, but now I'd be lying."

He rolls his eyes at her. "Stop being such a girl, Katniss. What happened to you?" he blusters. "What happened to the Katniss who threw punches and rocks? I figured you would eventually tell me to fuck off, but now it's like you're..."

She cuts him off with a slap to his left cheek. Water immediately blurs his vision, mixed with a scattering of black dots.

"Shut up," she says, voice like the crack of a whip. "You're acting pathetic. Stop trying to make me mad at you. You're – pushing me away, and I don't know why."

He refuses to cradle his cheek with his hand as he blinks back the stinging. She drives him nuts. That's all. She's confusing and irritating and she came to_ sit_ by him tonight for no reason at all. He can't _stand_ it.

"I've never been_ close_ enough to you to be able to push you away. You reminded me all the time how you didn't want me around, and we never really told each other anything. Hell, I didn't want you around, either, but I thought you'd give up the stoic, high and mighty act eventually." He crosses his arms, bearing down on her. "Joke was on me. You didn't. And suddenly you're trying to be nice – and I don't understand it. You're so fucking exhausting," he sighs roughly, dragging a hand through his hair. "Why don't you go be happy with lover boy and leave me alone?"

She looks at him hard, and she has the gall to look angry – or frustrated – shit, he doesn't know. Nothing has much changed about her, so he should be able to pick out something from the buffet of emotions she's letting pass across her face, but he ignores them whole-heartedly. She's not going to make him care.

"Gale," she begins, struggling with her choice of words. "Look, I'm...sorry for...when I...when I was…" she bites her bottom lip, losing eye contact with him, and she has no spell-binding allure to her whatsoever – and though she's never been a damsel, it does not take much to imagine, or to believe, the instinctual pull she has on others to give her their protection. Perhaps Peeta feeds on that – after all, what could make a boy like him feel more like a man than giving a girl unnecessary protection? It's only speculation. Besides, Gale's known Katniss long enough to know one thing for certain: Katniss survives on her own. Surely, for as long as Peeta's hung around her, he's come to the same conclusion.

"Don't hurt yourself," he says. He earns a glower, and she gives up on whatever impromptu apology she was going to make, saying instead, "Are you hunting tomorrow?"

He frowns. "Yes."

"Good," she says, shifting on her feet. "I'll hunt with you."

He grimaces. "Why?"

"Because I want to."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"Do you not want me to?"

"Of course not."

"Too bad."

"I'm not going if you're going."

Her eyebrow twitches, and her upper lip curls as she says, "When did you become such a _girl?"_

She's mocking him. He glares.

"Fine. Waste all your time trying to find me tomorrow."

It seems as if she grows a few inches against the challenge. "I won't."

"I doubt it."

"You'll see," she says haughtily. "I'll track you down like a deer."

He raises a superior brow. "I'd like to see that happen."

"Tomorrow," she says, a smile breaking onto her face as she steps back from him. "I'll see you then."

It sounds more like a promise than a rebuttal to the challenge they've set, and it's a bit unsettling. Gale shakes it off, watching her back as she turns down the road. He wants to shout something to her, to get the last word in, but he can't manage to do it.

When Katniss Everdeen sets her mind to something she wants, nothing is able to stop her from getting it.


End file.
